Time Crystals
by Silbrith
Summary: As Arkham prepares for the upcoming winter holiday, Azathoth springs his trap. Arkham Files story #6, a blend of White Collar and the world of the Cthulhu Mythos. White Collar characters: Neal, Peter, Elizabeth, Mozzie, Henry, June, and Sara.
1. Lost and Found

_Notes: This story takes place a couple of weeks after the events in Lion's Lair. The first chapter includes a short recap for new readers. There are summaries of the previous Arkham Files stories in the blog I co-write with Penna: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation. The post is called "Inside the Arkham Files Vault." The blog also has an introduction to this story: "Vault Acquisition: Time Crystals."  
_

* * *

**Chapter 1: Lost and Found**

**Providence, Rhode Island. Wednesday, December 13, 1961.**

_Hide!_

Zophar's command blared in Neal's head as he frantically raced around the room. Zophar had shoved him into his grandfather's bedroom and ordered him to lock the door, but no lock could restrain ghasts for long. They were just outside, hiding in the shrubbery, biding their time to attack. Even though it was dark outside, Neal could see them plainly and so could Zophar. Soon they'd break in. His heart pounded so loud, they were bound to hear it. They'd kill him just like they had Mom and now Gramps. There was no escape.

_Hide!_

Neal slid open the closet door. There was a stack of storage boxes at one end. If he squeezed behind them and draped a coat over himself like it had fallen off a hanger, he might have a chance.

A crash reverberated outside the room. Neal cowered behind the boxes. That must be the front door. The loud pops of gunfire must have been made by Zophar. He was trying to chase them off, but a gun couldn't kill one ghast, let alone three. He heard Zophar yell something, but he couldn't make out the words. He was shaking so hard, the coat fell off him. He hastily draped it back over him.

Slowly the sounds grew less. He didn't hear Zophar. Had he been carried off? Was he lying on the floor, dead? Ghasts had killed Gramps in an alley a block from home. Their house was no longer safe. Neal squeezed his eyes to stop the tears and compressed himself even tighter against the wall.

A loud crash accompanied by the sound of splintering wood made him jump. That had to be the door to the bedroom. The rough thud of hoofs grew louder. They were just outside the closet door. Neal's stomach clenched at the distinctive stench penetrating the closet. His hand reached under his sweater and clutched his amulet.

The door slid open. Zophar said the amulet would keep ghasts from smelling him, but they could see in the dark. Neal tightened his grip on the amulet. He held his breath as he listened to the harsh snuffling sounds.

Fainter thuds indicated there must be more in the house. One of them made a sickening hoarse call as if it was hurling out its stomach. The ghast in front of the closet called back. Neal's own stomach was doing flip flops.

With a grunt, the ghast slammed the door closed. It clumped away, the sound of its hooves receding.

The house grew quiet once more, but Neal didn't dare move. He had to stay hidden till Zophar came back. But what if he didn't? He'd told Neal if that ever happened, he was to run and never return. Their house would never be safe again.

After what seemed like hours and still no sound, Neal cracked open the door. There were no lights. He couldn't smell the enemy. He snuck into the room. The bedroom opened directly into the living room, and he could see the front door was open.

Neal didn't waste a second. He fled into the night.

**Boston, Massachusetts. Fourteen years later. December 6, 1975.**

Sara glanced up at the airplane departure display when the loudspeaker came on. "That's my flight. I suppose I should go . . ." Her words trailed off as she looked at Neal wistfully.

"I'll walk with you to the gate," he offered. He'd ridden with Sara to Logan Airport in her red Beetle and stayed to help with her luggage. Afterward, he'd drive the car back to Arkham. "Your career as an international investigative journalist is at the launch site. Your dream's about to come real." For her sake, Neal tried to appear enthusiastic. Hopefully, it didn't sound too fake.

He'd bought them drinks at the airport lounge to toast her new job. On a Saturday afternoon, the concourse was packed with travelers, but it wasn't the crowd which made them walk slowly.

Sara had returned from London three days ago, job offer in hand from the _International Herald Tribune. _She'd only had a few days to prepare for her return flight. Her folks drove from Hartford to see her and stayed in her apartment and had left this morning. Yesterday evening, her co-workers at the newspaper threw a farewell party. Today was really his first opportunity to have time alone with her, and there was still so much unsaid.

"I feel like I'm leaving you in the lurch," she admitted. "After the discoveries in Lyon, how can I abandon you?"

"But you're not." He'd already prepared his rationale. It helped that it was truthful. "You'll be on the task force which is investigating the upsurge of cult activity. If the Starry Wisdom cult is active in England, we may be joining you there before long."

"Not before you get rid of that infection," she warned. "For now you need to stay as far away as possible from cult members."

He appreciated her calling ymarite an infection, but that was a euphemism. Poison was more accurate—a souvenir from his abduction to the planet Merope. "Elizabeth reported they're making progress." She was working with Lavinia to develop an antidote to neutralize the toxin. "She may have news at tomorrow's meeting."

She made a face. "I should be there. Dream jobs come with unexpected downsides."

"But you're not leaving Arkham for good. This is the equivalent of a special assignment. Once the exposé is done, you can return. Larry said your desk would be waiting for you." Sara's boss had facilitated the arrangement with the newspaper. Neal didn't mention what, in his gloomier moments, he believed would happen. The London office would be so enchanted with Sara, they'd offer her a permanent position. She was already acquiring the notice of other papers. _The New York Times_ asked to reprint the article she'd written about the archaeological discoveries they'd made in France.

"Do you know if you'll be able to come home for the winter holidays?" he asked.

She shook her head regretfully. "I don't think I'll be able to manage it. Nigel warned me the workload would be a heavy one. They want to publish the exposé in February, and there's a ton of work to be done before then."

"What's Nigel like?"

"I believe he's Welsh. Mid-thirties, dark, suave, piercing brown eyes . . ." At Neal's groan, she broke into a laugh. "Can I help it if I'm attracted to men whose name begins with _N_?"

"Larry makes a much better boss—mid-fifties and happily married. Is Nigel married?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "Somehow that didn't come up during our discussion."

"Does he wear a wedding ring?" he persisted.

"No."

"So you noticed?"

"It's the duty of an investigative journalist to be observant," she retorted.

Neal had intended to tease her about Nigel, but he was becoming uncomfortable and Sara probably was, too. She might think he was jealous, and she'd be right. But all they'd exchanged were a few kisses. He decided to reverse course before she got the wrong idea. "Just remember. You admitted to me you have a penchant for bad boys. You'd asked me to vet your Diegos and Don Juans before you took any leaps."

She linked her arm through his. "Should I have you vetted?"

"Better not. You wouldn't like what you find." He gave her a mocking smile to make a joke out of what was an unpleasant truth. A genetic hybrid with the DNA of two alien species, tainted with a suspicious chemical, hardly made a suitable candidate.

"That's where you're wrong, and when I return, I aim to prove it." She hesitated. "I wish we had more time. Time for the two of us." They'd reached the gate. Passengers were getting in line to board. Neal unaccountably felt like he might never see her again. That was nonsense, and he shook the dark thoughts away.

"That will happen," he said, trying to make his voice sound more confident than he felt. "By the time you get back, I'll have that poison out of my system, and we'll make a fresh start."

"I hope so. Saying goodbye to you before boarding a plane is _not _something I fantasized about. This is the second time in a week. Enough already!"

She dropped her tote and kissed him. He lingered, holding onto the sensation of her lips against his as long as he could.

The embers which ignited between them in Lyon would have to cool it till she returned. Yet one more aspect of his life on hold. Lavinia had promised to train him in techniques to develop his Meropian abilities, but that too had been postponed. Her argument that researching a cure for ymarite was a higher priority was true, but he wondered if another factor wasn't involved. Did she worry that he was a funnel to Azathoth, and the knowledge would be leaked to her enemy?

Sara's new assignment arrived at a good time. Sometimes he wished the other members of their group were thousands of miles away too. The algolnium band they called themselves in lighter moments. Mozzie declared that they were a band of thieves, snatching wormholes away from the Ymar. But there was no denying that the others would be safer without him in their lives.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

When Neal arrived back at June's, he could smell the hearty aroma of jambalaya as soon as he crossed the threshold.

June came into the entry from the kitchen to greet him.

"I'm surprised you're cooking," he said. "Weren't you planning to go out with Cyrus tonight?"

"You'll have to be my date instead. He called this afternoon while you were at the airport. Lavinia and Elizabeth are still working with him in the lab. They were running a test on a compound and wanted to continue."

"So I'm the cause of your date being called off?" Neal winced. That meant Peter was being left in the lurch as well. No Saturday date night for anyone.

"It's for the best. I assume you could use the company." June glanced at his bag. "Unless you and Ch'uli have other plans?"

"Not as long as you have cookies to share." Neal unzipped the canvas tote and the silver-and-green chittak darted into the living room. Neal was surprised she didn't immediately head for the kitchen and June's cookie jar. "Will Pagna join us?"

"No, she called to say she'd be working late as well."

A familiar bass voice called out from the living room. "I'll gladly eat Pagna's portion." Peter walked into the entry with Ch'uli perched saucily on his shoulder. Did Peter realize how honored he should feel that she chose him over cookies?

"You know whenever I make jambalaya, it's enough for the entire band," June said. "Persuading Peter to join us was not difficult, and he'll be able to take leftovers home."

The evening was looking up. It'd be hard to mope about Sara with his support team in place.

Neal hadn't talked to Peter about his evolving relationship with Sara. There wasn't much to say. But Peter had teased him enough about their former fake dating status that he probably understood. Ever since their trip to the planet Merope where Neal was able to connect telepathically to Peter, their bond had strengthened to the point that it often seemed like they could read each other's thoughts.

"I'm glad you took Ch'uli along for the drive," Peter said. "Did you take her inside the airport?"

"I didn't want to risk a commotion. All those food options in the airport? I could have spent the day searching for her. She seemed content with her nest of blankets in the car."

"Can Sara see her yet?" June asked.

"No. She claimed that was the real reason she accepted the job offer." Chittaks were native to Merope. Humans were unable to see them unless algolnium was part of their chemical makeup. The rare element was part of Neal's body chemistry, and it was also growing inside Peter.

"By the time she returns from London, I bet she'll be able to," Peter predicted. "Lavinia only injected Sara and El a couple of weeks ago. Mozzie can see her now." Ch'uli rubbed against his neck as if to indicate her approval. He turned to June. "Do you wish you had algolnium, too?"

"And deprive myself of the fun of watching my food disappear as if by magic?" She chuckled. "No thanks."

They joined June in the kitchen to finish dinner preparations. While Neal made the salad, Peter cut carrot sticks for Ch'uli. June took the lid off the green ceramic alligator jar to signal that the jar was empty. Invisible or not, Ch'uli would have to wait till after dinner for dessert.

"June, has your life changed much now that Pagna is staying here?" Peter asked. The Meropian had arrived a week ago and was living in one of June's extra bedrooms.

"Honestly, I hardly ever see her," she admitted. "She's been spending most of her time in the lab."

"She must have communicated her schedule to Ch'uli," Neal said. "When Pagna arrived, I didn't expect my cookie-munching friend would be here so often."

"I'm glad she is," Peter said. "According to Lavinia, Ch'uli's able to sense a wormhole forming as accurately as Pagna's instruments. Until the toxin is neutralized, you could be an easy target."

Neal went to the refrigerator to retrieve the salad dressing. No one knew what effect the chemical ymarite was having. Lavinia and Gideon were familiar with the compound since a few Meropians had been contaminated with it when their planet was invaded. They felt that it was likely the drug produced a signal allowing Azathoth to track him. The question was why. The Starry Wisdom cult was devoted to the worship of Azathoth. Perhaps they were concerned about what action Neal planned to take against them.

So far, they didn't need to worry. Neal and Peter had managed to quash the Arkham branch of Starry Wisdom, but that was the result of a fluke discovery of the wormhole. Lavinia and Gideon seemed to be convinced that the band would be able to disrupt the cult's operations throughout the world, but without knowing where open wormholes were located, it was hard to know how. And as a practical matter, Neal couldn't simply roam the globe looking for portals. Neal had been able to seal the wormhole in Arkham because it was a permanent portal created by the Elnath, the first aliens to colonize Earth. The Celaenians had left a failsafe disk at its entrance which Neal was able to activate with his amulet. But the Ymar had been able to somehow open other wormholes by use of ruby crystals, and for those there was no way of predicting where they would pop up. If Azathoth planned to capture Neal to learn about their strategy, they wouldn't find out much. He supposed that should be a comforting thought.

"Has Pagna been able to trace the location of the armillary sphere?" June asked, sprinkling chopped parsley over the rice.

Peter tossed a carrot stick to Ch'uli. "Not that I've heard. Neal?"

"I've hated to ask," Neal admitted. "It's a sensitive subject with Mozzie. He still blames himself that it was stolen. Now that Pagna's here and there's a chance we can recover it, he's been tireless in working with her to find it."

June reduced the fire under the skillet. "Gentlemen, get your plates! The jambalaya's ready."

June had decorated the dining room table with an emerald-green tablecloth and red taper candles for the holidays. She owned a set of Jamestown Christmas dishes which they'd been using since the first of the month. The village scene depicted on the plates reminded Neal of the familiar clapboard houses of Arkham.

There was plenty of beer for Peter to wash down the hot spiciness of the jambalaya while Neal and June had a bottle of Chardonnay. Ch'uli took command of the obligatory bowl of grapes placed in front of one of the chairs. It was a merry group as they discussed plans for the upcoming winter break.

Neal and Peter had gone into the kitchen for seconds when he heard the front door open.

"The conquering heroes have arrived!" Mozzie trumpeted. "Neal, where are you?"

"In the kitchen," Neal called out. "What was the victory?"

"A discovery worthy of a celebration." Mozzie joined them in front of the stove, accompanied by Pagna.

"Is there enough for us?" Pagna asked, sniffing the skillet. "It smells delicious."

"There's ample for all," June said, walking in. "The plates are in the cupboard by the sink."

Neal set the table for two more while the new arrivals loaded themselves down with food. They refused to announce the breakthrough till they were seated. And it was worth the wait. They'd located the armillary sphere.

"I knew it was just a matter of time," Mozzie said complacently. "Gideon had embedded a microchip in one of the grooves of the sphere. It was so tiny, it would have been undetectable by thieves."

"We also confirmed the reason why we had such difficulty in tracing it," Pagna added, reaching for the French bread. "The instrument is no longer on Earth. It's been taken to Tirelia."

"Earth's sister planet?" June asked, looking startled.

"That's an apt description for it," she replied. "Tirelia and Earth reside on opposite ends of a node connecting the two universes."

Andrew had found the armillary sphere during a trip to Tirelia with Zophar. It sounded like Neal would need to follow in their footsteps. He supposed he should call them grandfather and father instead, but since he had no memory of them, the words felt awkward. His mother was named Melina. Did he call her Mom, Mum, or something else? He only knew them by a couple of photos. The one image of Melina was when she was about five years old. Recollections of his family were lost in the inaccessible black hole that was his life before Arkham.

Neal realized he'd been mechanically tearing a slice of bread into tiny pieces. He hurriedly stopped before anyone noticed. His appetite had vanished.

"Can you pinpoint the location on Tirelia?" Peter asked.

"After refinement of the sensors, we should be able to," she confirmed.

"Once we know where it is, we can prepare a rescue mission," Mozzie said enthusiastically. "Since the armillary sphere technically belongs to me, I insist on being included."

"I agree in principle," Peter said, "but how can we travel to Tirelia? Pagna, do your people possess the technology to open a wormhole?"

"Not to a parallel universe," she admitted, "but the permanent wormhole you sealed in Arkham is not the only one in existence. Gideon and I discussed options before he left. From the beginning, he suspected that the armillary sphere was likely on Tirelia. Gideon is aware of another permanent wormhole not far from you. It's close to the town of Taunton."

"I'm familiar with that area," Mozzie said. "It's about halfway between Arkham and Providence, Rhode Island. A friend of mine, Levi Heath, has a cottage on the Taunton River. He's an astronomy professor at Brown. We've often conducted thought experiments at his retreat. It's been most enlightening for him."

"I'm sure it was," Pagna agreed, with only a slight smile at Mozzie's comment. They'd been working together for a week. She must have grown accustomed to his special brand of humor. "The wormhole is located in Freetown State Forest outside Taunton."

"Can Gideon lead us there?" Neal asked.

"No, he's not familiar with the exact spot, but you are."

"I am? I don't remember ever having been there."

"Zophar told Gideon that you stopped in the park on your way from Boston to Providence. This was just after your mother's death. You asked to explore the woods. Zophar thought a short hike would help refresh your spirits. You were the one who sensed the wormhole. Zophar told Gideon it was in a cave. He believed it had been made by Celaenians and appeared to be untainted by the Ymar. He didn't take the time to explore it then but hoped to return."

"Did he?" June asked.

Pagna shook her head. "They discovered the cave in November. Zophar died a little over a month later."

"I don't understand," Neal said. "I wasn't able to sense the wormholes in Arkham. What makes this one different?"

"Those others weren't made by the Celaenians," she said. "Gideon hopes that your ability will be even stronger now and you'll be able to relocate the site."

Peter rubbed his chin. "Wouldn't some evidence of the wormhole have been detected long ago? Surely we would have heard reports of it."

"If bizarre creatures had popped out, locals would have simply added them to the preexisting legends," Mozzie said and turned to Pagna. "The forest is part of the Bridgewater Triangle. The area, which also includes several towns and a swamp, is known for paranormal occurrences. Perhaps some of the legends were inspired by visitors from Tirelia."

"A fascinating possibility, but it's unlikely," she said. "Celaenians have the ability to exclude other species from their wormholes."

"This one could be like the wormhole on the planet Merope," Peter said. "Gideon was concerned that it would only allow Neal to pass unharmed so he lashed us together for the return trip."

Pagna nodded agreement. "Gideon feels certain Neal could enter this wormhole, but as for any others . . ." Her words trailed off and she shrugged at the uncertainty of him being able to take companions.

"Then we'll just have to rope ourselves to Neal," Mozzie declared, rubbing his hands together. "As soon as we have a location, we're off to Tirelia!"

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

It was late in the evening by the time El pulled into the garage behind the house. The breakthrough they'd hoped for remained elusive. She reminded herself that they'd only been at it for a few weeks. Pharmaceutical companies often spent decades researching a new drug. Perhaps tomorrow's results would be more promising. She locked the garage and entered through the back door into the kitchen.

Satchmo was sprawled in front of the door. The Lab jumped up to greet her with Peter a close second.

"You must be exhausted," he said, giving her a kiss. "I hope you'll be able to sleep in tomorrow. Can I tempt you with breakfast in bed?"

She shrugged off her coat. "That sounds heavenly. Cyrus suggested we cancel tomorrow's group meeting so we can continue the experiments and Lavinia agreed. We'll resume work in the morning."

"Have you eaten anything? June packed jambalaya and insisted I take the rest of the pecan pie home."

El scanned him warily. "No arm twisting involved?"

He laughed. "Scout's honor!"

"We stopped for a quick meal but a small slice of pie would be wonderful."

"Coming up, and to show my discipline, I'll restrain myself to only a small sliver to keep you company."

While Peter sliced the pie, she poured them glasses of brandy. "I assume Mozzie and Pagna filled you in on the news about Tirelia."

He nodded. "He's already launched his campaign to go there tomorrow. If Gideon were here to give his approval, there'd be no stopping him."

They carried their plates into the living room and sat on the couch. "I sympathize with how Mozzie feels," El said. "He blames himself for the armillary sphere being taken, and that won't change until it's recovered. But he'll have to exercise patience. Neal's presence will be essential, but until we've figured out how to purge the chemical from his system, it's too dangerous for him to attempt a trip."

"That's the way I feel too. We can't charge off to Tirelia without learning what we're getting into." Peter swirled the brandy in his glass for a moment. "There's a risk no matter what we do. We don't know what the armillary sphere is capable of. The longer Azathoth has it, the greater the threat."

"It's more than that." El paused to collect her thoughts. "Lavinia and I've been working closely together for the past week and I have a better understanding of the pressure she's under. Neal's situation is, as far as we know, unique. No one else in the galaxy is known to have both Meropian and Celaenian DNA mingled with their native chemistry. How algolnium behaves under those conditions is a mystery. When Lavinia corrected the imbalance in Neal's system as a child, she didn't realize he'd have amnesia as a result. Not that it would have made a difference. She had to act because he was suffering from major organ failure. Now we're in a similar situation. We don't know how ymarite is reacting with his hybrid components. What side effects will whatever drug we develop have?"

"You fear another episode of amnesia?"

She nodded. "Or something worse."

Peter drew her close to him. "Neal is grateful for the effort you're making . . . and more than a little guilty. We've talked about it. He understands the risks and accepts that there may be unforeseen consequences. But everything we do comes with a set of challenges." He began massaging the tight muscles in her back.

El tried to relax, but she sensed neither one of them would sleep well tonight. Neal had experienced a vision where he saw an alien standing beside a huge apparatus resembling a monstrous armillary sphere in an onyx fortress. He said the alien looked like a praying mantis but was ten feet tall with whip-like tentacles. Lavinia believed the vision was of Azathoth. After the initial vision, Peter and Neal had suffered from recurring nightmares where one or the other of them was being tortured by Azathoth.

According to Lavinia, the scenes could be what would come to pass if they didn't retrieve the armillary sphere or they could be a warning not to venture to Tirelia. It was even possible the vision had been planted by Sornoth when Neal was held captive by the leopard. The Meropian argued that to base their actions on what he'd seen would be foolhardy. Were Peter's nightmares caused by Neal reaching out to him subconsciously or was there some other force at work?

El had known when they volunteered to help combat the alien threat, it would be dangerous, but at the time it'd only been an abstract concept. Now it was at their doorstep.

**Fourteen years earlier. Providence.**

Neal shivered in the cold wind. He'd grabbed his parka when he fled from home but forgot his gloves. The sky was one mass of gray clouds. He'd heard people on the street talking about a snowstorm.

The first night he'd spent in the train station, picking first one group of travelers then another to sit close to while hoping no one would notice him. He kept waiting for Zophar to find him, but he never came.

Neal clutched his amulet tighter as he saw Gramps once more in his mind. His scream when the ghast attacked . . . Neal bit his clenched fist to choke back the sob. Not a sound. It was dark. Ghasts were about. He'd spotted one a couple of blocks away.

Zophar had told him never to go back if the ghasts found out where they lived, and he'd obeyed. It had now been two days since his flight. After his mom died, Zophar had coached him on what to do if they were attacked. Neal was supposed to flee onto the streets and Zophar would find him. Had he been killed too?

Their house was on the fringe of a run-down section of downtown Providence. Many of the other blocks had been redeveloped. Shops and restaurants catered to the prosperous residents.

The first day, Neal had hidden out in a department store. His navy parka was dark enough that it didn't look very dirty. The store was crowded with holiday shoppers. No one paid any attention to him as he wandered from department to department. The Christmas shop offered samples of fudge, but they'd quickly caught onto him and only allowed him two samples.

He'd spent the evening in a grocery store. A friendly stocker had given him a cookie, but when the store closed he was back out on the streets.

Zophar told him not to hide in the same place twice so he trudged the extra miles to the bus station. The waiting room was cold and dreary. He could control his tears by not thinking about Gramps, but his stomach insisted on grumbling. He was too scared to sleep.

The second day, there were no fudge samples at the department store, but at least it was warm. He'd had better luck at the grocery store. At the deli counter, a worker had given him a slice of cheese. He'd stayed in the store till closing time.

Neal left his hiding spot behind a restaurant dumpster and looked wistfully at the families leaving the restaurant. He'd hoped to find some discarded food but the lid was too heavy for him to lift. He decided to walk along Westminster Street. It had the best Christmas displays. If he was surrounded by people, ghasts probably wouldn't carry him off.

A street vendor was hawking hot chestnuts and pretzels on the corner. Neal stood close, warming himself by the cart, till the man shooed him away.

"No loitering or I'll call the cops on you," he growled.

Scared, Neal ran till he bumped into a shopper who yelled at him to watch where he was going. He slowed down, pausing at each window display. Many of the shoppers were stopping to look at the Christmas decorations as well. They helped shield him from the wind.

Neal wandered next to a bakery. There was a gingerbread house in the window along with gingerbread cookies of all descriptions. Women, dogs, cats . . . Neal eyed them hungrily, as he wiped his nose on his sleeve. He could eat the entire display.

"Want one?"

He spun around at the sound of the friendly voice. A boy a few years older than him, maybe twelve or thirteen, gave him a grin. He was wearing a wool pea coat over his jeans and had a dark green stocking cap.

Neal felt his face redden. "I don't have any money."

"So?"

When Neal stared at him, speechless, his grin broadened. "Wait here. Don't move, okay?"

Neal nodded.

He patted him on his shoulder. "I'll be right back, kiddo."

Neal blew on his hands to warm them while trying to look through the window. The shop was crowded with people. He couldn't see the boy. Neal turned away from the window to scan the crowd. Was a ghast lurking within one of them? He'd stayed here too long. He needed to run.

"Hey, where you going?" The boy appeared next to him. His hands were in his pockets. "Don't you want the gingerbread?"

Before Neal could answer, he nudged him down the street a few doors down. "Best we don't eat them right in front of the shop." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a gingerbread dog and soldier. "The soldier's for you."

"How did you—"

"Hey, they'll never miss them. Christmas is the time to give presents. I knew they wanted to give them to us."

"Thanks!" Neal stuffed the gingerbread into his mouth, closing his eyes with pleasure and licking every crumb off his fingers.

"My name's Henry by the way. Henry Elliot."

Neal hesitated. He'd been warned never to tell anyone who he was, but did it matter now? It would be rude not to tell him. "Neal Chaseman."

"Glad to meet you, Neal. Where do you live?"

"Nowhere," Neal said, keeping his voice a low mumble.

"What d'ya mean? You gotta have a home. You're too young to live on the streets."

"I'm not that young," Neal said quickly. "I'm eight."

"Oh, well, in that case it's fine." Henry snickered. "Wait till you're my age—I'm twelve—then you might get away with a fib like that. Even if you don't have a home, you must have a mom."

Neal shook his head. "She died."

Henry smile vanished. "A dad?"

Neal shook his head.

"Anyone?"

Neal began to feel very uncomfortable. He was giving away too much. "Thanks again for the gingerbread. I should go." He turned away.

Henry grabbed him by the shoulder, holding him in place. "Go where?"

Neal just stared at him, unable to think of an answer. The hopelessness of his situation took hold, and he blinked back tears. The wind was stronger now, and he couldn't stop trembling. Henry had to notice. He'd think he was a weakling.

"Look, I live with my mom in an apartment. You can stay in my room."

The thought was so appealing he longed to agree. "What will your mom say?"

He made a face. "She won't even know. She's hardly ever home. Come on, kiddo. There's heat, a big jar of peanut butter. That's gotta be better than the streets when it's below freezing, right?" He held out a hand as the first flakes of snow came down. "You better put on your gloves. It's about a ten-block walk."

Neal shoved his hands into his pockets. "I'll be okay."

Henry frowned. "No, you won't." He stripped off his gloves. "Take mine."

"I can't take yours. You need them."

"Not as much as you do. When you're twelve, you can go without gloves."

Hardly likely, but Neal was too grateful to protest. Henry's leather gloves were lined with wool. They looked new and expensive. Neal's fingers were stiff from the cold but Henry helped him put them on. The gloves were too big, making the task easier. They were so warm, Neal wished he could fit all of himself into the gloves.

Henry helped him tie the drawstring on his hood tighter, and they set off. The snow quickly grew heavier, and they didn't attempt to talk. Henry set a fast pace and Neal struggled to keep up with him, hunger driving him forward.

The number of pedestrians dwindled as they left the shopping district. Dark barred storefronts and tenements lined the street. Neal felt exposed. He should be somewhere inside. Every dark alley looked like it could harbor ghasts. He could almost smell them.

Neal began to pant from the exertion and stopped to catch his breath.

"We're almost there," Henry said, his cheeks red from the cold. "I live on the third floor." He pointed to a faded yellow brick apartment building over an adult bookstore.

Neal nodded, too tired to speak. As they approached, he scanned the store. There were a couple of men inside but they weren't possessed by ghasts.

"Hey, you're too young for that," Henry said, giving him a push toward a side entrance. "Wait till you're twelve."

There was no lock on the front door of the building. Anyone could use the staircase. If ghasts had followed him, there'd be no barriers to slow them down. As Neal trudged up the stairs behind his new friend, all the reasons why this was a bad idea were screaming in his head. By the time they got to the landing for Henry's floor, he'd about decided not to go in. Maybe he could wait till after the promised sandwich.

Henry fished in his jeans pocket and pulled out a key. "You worried about my mom?" he asked, scanning his face.

"Yeah." That was a better excuse than the real one.

"Stay here. I'll make sure she didn't come back early."

When he went inside Neal moved back to the stairs, ready to take flight.

Henry came back outside a couple of minutes later. He spotted Neal on the staircase and waved to him. "The coast is clear. I'll give you the tour."

Relaxing a little, Neal followed Henry into the apartment. There was a bright red couch in the living room with some scattered plush rugs. A beaded curtain closed off a hallway which Henry said led to the bedrooms. His mom must like pillows. They were everywhere. Some were in the shape of kisses. There were large mirrors on the walls. Neal looked at his own pale, dirty face. Why had Henry bothered with him?

Henry guided him through another set of beaded curtains into the kitchen. There was hardly any food in the refrigerator. A jug of milk shared space with beer, a few bottles of soda, and several cans of whipped cream. But Neal didn't care. That jar of peanut butter was on top of the counter, beckoning to him. Henry got out the bread, grape jelly, and two bottles of root beer. They made massive sandwiches. Neal had never slathered on so much peanut butter in his life. He kept his parka on even though Henry had taken his coat off.

They went into Henry's bedroom to eat. The walls were covered with posters of Superman, Batman, and the Green Lantern. Neal sat cross-legged on the floor next to Henry to wolf down his sandwich, feeling like he'd found his superhero.

Henry didn't know his dad either. He didn't have any brothers or sisters. He was vague about what his mom's job was. Henry wanted to know about Neal, but there wasn't much he could tell.

"Where do you go to school?" Henry asked.

"I don't. Gramps gave me lessons at home." Neal stopped himself. He shouldn't have said that. Now that he had some food and was warm, he was getting so sleepy he could hardly sit up.

"So you do have a home?"

"Not anymore."

"Where's your grandpa?" Henry persisted.

"Dead." Neal swiped his eyes with the back of his hand and fled into the bathroom. It was the first time he'd told anyone, and he couldn't hold back the tears. He washed his face in the sink till he was able to get himself under control.

After a few minutes, Henry knocked on the door. "I'm sorry. We don't have to talk about it."

Neal opened the door. "That's why I can't go home. Bad guys are after me." That was the closest he could come to something Henry might understand. "They'll kill me if they find me. That's why I shouldn't stay here either."

Henry's eyes widened. "What do they look like? I'll help you watch for them."

"You can't see them," he said miserably. He'd already said too much. Zophar would be mad at him. He should tie a rag over his mouth.

Henry was looking at him with disbelief. He probably thought Neal was making a joke. If he weren't so tired, he'd laugh it off, then leave. Zophar told him to run. Neal started to turn toward the door.

"Hey, they don't know where you are. You're safe here." He grabbed Neal as he started to sway. "You're asleep on your feet. We'll talk more tomorrow. You can use my bed."

"I can't do that. The floor's fine."

Henry frowned. "It's probably safer for you not to use my bed. Mom sometimes checks on me."

"I could sleep in your closet," Neal offered.

His face lit up. "That could work! A small fry like you will easily fit. I'll make a bed out of blankets and a pillow. It will be like camping!"

* * *

_Notes: Thanks for reading and welcome back to Arkham! If this is your first visit, you may wish to check out the resources on the Arkham Files page of our blog. Time Crystals has 8 chapters which I'll post weekly on Wednesday._

_Penna Nomen hopped into the wormhole to sprinkle beta magic on this story while crushing typos lurking in the chaos of deep space. Thank you, Penna!_

_Thanks also to Mysteryfan17 for introducing me to Taunton and the Bridgewater Triangle. Mozzie was immediately attracted to the eerie legends of what is reputed to be one of the most haunted regions in the U.S. Azathoth has taken note._

_Readers of the Caffrey Conversation series know that starting with this story Diana and Mozzie are co-writing Arkham Files. It was Mozzie who insisted on the dual timelines in this chapter. In next week's chapter, Azathoth makes his move and it will become clear why Mozzie felt the two threads were necessary. _

_A couple of weeks ago, Penna and I held our third writing retreat. She wrote about the experience for our blog: "Writing retreat: 2019." __The retreats often resemble a family reunion where our characters drop in to promote their ideas for the future. In Neal's timeline in Caffrey Conversation, it's currently November 2005. Many of the ideas we discussed were for stories set in 2006. Without dipping into spoilers, I can safely predict it will be a very eventful year. During last year's retreat, Neal's cousin Angela wasn't shy about expressing what she'd like to see occur during the speakeasy party in Columbia Ghost Story. If you've read that adventure, you won't be surprised to hear that at one point Penna and I were singing along to "Someday My Prince Will Come" while searching for screenshots of Snow White. This year, Henry was particularly vocal about what he'd like to see happen. Some of his ideas will find their way into stories later this year._

_Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation  
Chapter Visuals and Music: The Time Crystals board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website_


	2. Taken

**Chapter 2: Taken  
**

**Arkham. Sunday, December 7, 1975.**

_Even alien scientists need to take a break._

Although June's experience with alien scientists was limited to only a few days, she was convinced she was right. Pagna had never participated in Christmas traditions and June was determined that her first holiday on Earth would be a happy one. She also hoped the festivities would ease the pressure Neal was under.

June had spent the past week making enough cookies to last through the holidays. She was particularly proud of the chittak-inspired sugar cookies. She'd found cookie cutters shaped like monkeys which Neal decorated with white and emerald frosting.

Today was set aside to be Pagna's introduction to Christmas trees. The Meropian was allowed to go into the lab in the morning but June gave her strict instructions to take the afternoon off. While Pagna was away, Neal brought the tree ornaments down from the attic and June made a pitcher of her famous bourbon eggnog. When Pagna arrived home, she accompanied June and Neal in the Chevy on the quest for the perfect tree.

Once they were back with a beautiful eight-foot fir to decorate, June put on a record of Christmas music while Neal had Pagna help him set up the tree in the living room. The boxes of ornaments were already stacked on the coffee table and sofa.

"It's a good thing I took Ch'uli back to Lavinia this morning," Neal commented, holding up one of the red glass balls and frowning at it.

June chuckled. "Is that a tactful way of suggesting we should stock up on unbreakables during the post-Christmas sales?"

Pagna picked up a small wood penguin. "Perhaps we should restrict ourselves this year, too. The chittaks like to drop in unannounced, and cookies won't be the only things on their mind."

"One year, I made origami ornaments," Neal said.

"And I kept them," June said. "They're in the red box on the cocktail table. You may wish to make more."

"I've heard of the art," Pagna said, "but never made any. You'll have to show me how."

"I'll be glad to. I should start working on a chittak design." He paused for a moment. "Shantaks could be interesting."

"What are shantaks?" June asked.

"They're immense birds. Peter and I saw them from a distance circling the plateau of Leng on Tirelia."

"Have you ever been to Tirelia, Pagna?" June asked. "All I've heard described is the Plateau of Leng. Surely the planet's not all forbidding mountain peaks coated in snow and ice."

"No Meropian currently alive has been there to my knowledge, but a few have visited it in the past. There's one continent-sized landmass as well as several large islands. The air and chemistry are similar to Earth except that algolnium is a common element. Like Earth, Tirelia has distinctive regions including woodlands, prairies, and wetlands. Azathoth's fortress lies in a mountainous area in the north."

"Why did the Celaenians decide to banish the Ymar to Tirelia?" Neal asked, voicing a concern June had long shared. "Weren't they worried about the harm they'd inflict on the local inhabitants?"

"It must have been a difficult decision," she agreed. "But what would the alternative have been? Species extinction? I'm not sure that the Celaenians could have achieved that even if they wanted to. It's my understanding that the Ymar are scattered on several planets in addition to Tirelia. The mind-control techniques which give the Ymar such overwhelming power in our universe are impossible in the A-Brane, as Mozzie calls it."

"Lavinia told me Tirelians appear identical to humans," Neal said. "What about its wildlife? Do they have chittaks on Tirelia?"

Pagna smiled. "I haven't heard of them being there. Many of the animals closely resemble Earth species. Then there are the others." Her face grew serious. "You're familiar with zoogs, nightgaunts, ghasts, and gugs. They're not the only ones to fear. Your grandfather nearly lost his life when he was abducted there. Gideon will want—"

June screamed as Neal started to wink in and out in front of her eyes. Crackles of static electricity ripped through the living room. His image stuttered like a piece of film stuck in the sprockets of a projector.

He reached out a hand to them. He was so translucent June could see through him to the tree. A second later he vanished.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

El returned home earlier than expected, buoyed by the breakthrough. The compound they'd formulated the previous day appeared to be the most promising yet. They decided to call a halt while the culture developed. They'd resume work in the evening.

When she called Peter, he suggested they have an early dinner and offered to grill scallops. He'd been inspired by June and had begun getting out their own Christmas decorations. The dining room table was already set with a holiday centerpiece and tablecloth when she returned home.

El opted for sparkling water rather than wine. Her workday wasn't over. "I probably won't get back until late in the evening," she warned, "but if the results are what we expect, we should have something ready for Neal as early as Tuesday."

"An early Christmas," Peter said, swirling his last scallop in the lemon butter. "Not just for Neal—for all of us."

She nodded. "We're unable to take any action against the cult until this is resolved."

"I know we shouldn't get ahead of ourselves, but it's hard not to believe we're at a milestone. This coming week is the final week of classes. While the students focus on exams, we can plan the future—recovering the armillary sphere, going to Egypt." He set down his fork and chuckled. "Mozzie called me this morning to propose dates. I think he's already packing his bags for Tirelia."

She laughed and stood up. "Sounds like I better get back to work then." She picked up her plate to carry it into the kitchen.

"I'll wash dishes," Peter offered, also rising from the table. "Does Neal know how close you are?"

"Not yet. We didn't want to raise his hopes in case the drug proves ineffective. That's good advice for you, as well. Don't let Mozzie get too far ahead of where we actually are."

El jumped at the sound of china breaking. She spun around to see Peter frozen in place, his eyes glazed. He appeared oblivious to the plate he'd dropped.

She'd never witnessed one of Neal's visions, but based on the descriptions she'd been given, this was something similar. Peter was unresponsive to her calls. When she grasped his shoulder to force him into a chair, he snapped out of it.

"Neal's in trouble," he said, as she took his pulse.

"What do you mean?"

"I heard him call out to me. I saw Azathoth's fortress." Peter's face was still bleached of color. "I think Neal's been abducted."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Henry lay in bed, unable to fall asleep. He'd left the nightlight on. Neal should be able to see it through the gap in the sliding door so he wouldn't feel like he was in the dark. The kid had to be asleep by now. He was already nodding off when Henry fixed him a second sandwich, not that he didn't stay awake long enough to devour it. He must have been starving.

When Henry closed his eyes, he could see Neal staring into the bakery, his hands in his pockets, shivering from the cold. The hopelessness on his face was something Henry intended to ensure would never reappear.

Mom would be furious if she knew he'd invited Neal home, but she'd never find out. They'd run away together. Henry had been planning to for a while. Now he had an even better reason to leave.

He'd had it with the johns, the booze, the dope. When his mom was sober, she treated him okay, but that happened less and less. Most of the time she was too drunk to care what the johns did to her or him.

Henry's stomach lurched. He'd told Neal he was safe here but was that true? Neal was already running from one set of bad guys. What if Mom brought a client home?

They should take off tonight. He knew where his mom hid a little cash. He could—

The sound of the front door opening made him hold his breath. Two voices. One was his mom's. The other was some deep voice he didn't recognize.

"Oh Marvin, you're a bad boy!" she tittered, making Henry want to puke.

"You like it rough, don't you," the voice growled. "And strong. This will be a week you'll never forget!"

"It won't take me a minute to get my things."

Henry quickly pulled the blanket up to his neck and pretended to be asleep.

The bedroom door opened. "_Pssst_! Henry! You awake?"

"I am now," he grumbled while Mom leaned over to plant a smacker on him. Her breath reeked of alcohol.

"Here." She stuffed a few singles in his hand. "This should be enough till I return. I'm staying with a friend. I'll be back in a week or so. There's plenty of peanut butter in the cupboard."

"Lorraine, hurry up!"

She cast a backward glance to the doorway. "I'll be right there, Marvin. Keep that love engine running!"

The sound of her fawning voice made him gag. "You better go, Mom."

"Yeah, see ya!" She staggered out of the room, closing the door behind her.

Henry didn't dare move. There was no sound coming out of the closet. Luckily she didn't take long to get ready. Henry counted to twenty after the front door slammed before getting out of bed.

As he headed for the closet, he heard soft whimpers.

"Peter . . . Peter!" Neal's cries were growing louder.

Henry slid back the door and crouched beside him. In the dimness of the nightlight, he could see Neal's eyes were open, but they were staring vacantly into the closet. Henry hugged him to his chest. "It's okay, kiddo. It's just a nightmare."

Neal clung to him, still mumbling nonsense. Something about a mousie. A toy, maybe.

Henry rocked him, not knowing what else to do, and tried to calm him. "You're safe. There aren't any bad guys around."

Finally Neal pulled back. "Sorry," he sniffled. "Didn't mean to wake you."

"I was already awake. Mom was here briefly, but she left. It's just the two of us now. She won't be coming back for several days."

Neal shoved the hair off his forehead and nodded. He looked sleepy but no longer scared.

"Who's Peter?" Henry asked.

Neal looked at him bewildered. "I don't know anyone named Peter. Why do you ask?"

"You were calling out his name. I wondered if he was a friend or an uncle. Maybe you were dreaming about a TV show. Do you watch _Peter Gunn_?"

Neal shook his head.

"Then it can't mean anything. Go back to sleep. You don't have to worry. I'll protect you."

Henry stayed with him till his breathing evened out. Neal looked like he hadn't slept much for days. Would he have more nightmares? Henry's bed seemed a long way from the closet. Well, he could fix that.

Henry dragged his pillow and blanket off the bed and settled down next to the open closet door. His mind whirled with possibilities. Where should they go first? Los Angeles? New York? Miami?

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

El's words of reassurance couldn't dissuade Peter from his conviction that Neal had been abducted. When he called June, she confirmed his fear. His stomach dropped when he heard that Neal had vanished within seconds of the time he'd heard his calls inside his head. He and El left immediately for June's.

"I've been asked to stay out of the living room," June said, meeting them at the door. Pagna was standing at the entrance to the room, studying a piece of equipment she was holding in her hands. Its shape resembled a transistor radio, but the surface appeared to be embedded with luminous disks.

The room was cluttered with boxes of ornaments and a half-decorated Christmas tree. Mugs of eggnog and plates of cookies were scattered about. It was now a crime scene.

"That's to reduce any further contamination," Pagna said, not looking up. "I'll be with you shortly." Did that mean Pagna would be able to extract useful information? Peter knew he was grasping at alien straws, hoping the Meropians had the means to trace Neal.

Lavinia appeared at the doorstep within minutes of their arrival. She took charge of questioning them, ushering them into the dining room. After June described what she witnessed, Lavinia asked Peter about his vision.

"Initially all I heard were his calls. Wherever he was, he was terrified. For a brief second, I saw the metal apparatus in Azathoth's fortress, at least I assume that's what it was. A vast array of brass hoops encircled me. Then the scene blinked out. I found myself in a dim, confined space. A few clothes were hanging over me. I must have been in a closet of some sort. A boy's face appeared in front of me. Brown hair, freckles. It was too dark to see much, but I think his eyes were hazel or green."

"Is there any chance it was Neal?" Lavinia asked.

"You think I had a flashback to when he was a child?" Startled, Peter took a moment to consider. "I have a copy of the photo the police used when they were trying to find his parents, and this boy didn't look like him. For one thing, he was a few years older. I'd guess thirteen or so. His hair was a lighter shade of brown. The eyes weren't blue, I'm sure of that. I only saw him for a brief moment then he too disappeared. The next thing I knew, El was speaking to me."

Pagna entered the room. "This instrument was able to detect lingering wave disturbances from the event. Once I connect it to my equipment in the lab, I hope to know where Neal is."

"What if he's off-world?" June asked anxiously.

Lavinia's stern face tightened even more. "You must prepare yourself for that eventuality. The highest likelihood is that he's on Tirelia. When Neal was abducted to the plateau of Leng, the priest in the monastery told Neal he'd call for him. That priest was Nyarlathotep, Azathoth's lieutenant. I fear he made good on his threat. Pagna should be able to discover Neal's location even if he's on Tirelia, just like she could with the armillary sphere."

The jangle of the doorbell startled them all. Peter stopped June when she stood up. "Best I answer it."

Was a cult member at the door? Did he bring a ransom note from Azathoth? Peter's thoughts were in chaos. Why hadn't he brought his gun? Another mistake, showing how ill-prepared he was for the challenges ahead.

But it was Mozzie's face which peered anxiously through the glass window of the door. "Is Neal okay?" he demanded as soon as Peter opened the door.

"We don't know. How did you find out?"

"I heard him in my head." Mozzie related how he'd had an experience similar to Peter's. "I didn't see anything but I'm sure I didn't imagine it. At the time, I was working on a set of equations. He broke into my thoughts without warning."

When they told him what limited information they had, Mozzie had the expected reaction. "We must launch a rescue effort. We needed to go to Tirelia anyway. His kidnapping makes it imperative."

"We've yet to determine his location," Lavinia rebuffed. "Any discussion of a rescue mission is premature. I've contacted Gideon. He's on his way. We must wait till he's arrived and Pagna's had a chance to analyze the data."

"But we can't just sit here," Mozzie protested.

"I'm not suggesting you do," she retorted. "A rescue mission will be fraught with risk. Your odds of returning are not good, to put it bluntly." The hard lines in her face softened. "Your willingness to volunteer fills me with hope. Use this time to put your affairs in order. Both you and Peter have classes which will need to be handed over to others as well as personal affairs to manage." She turned to El. "You and I need to return to the lab. Cyrus may have the results of our latest test sample ready. More than ever, we need to find a cure for ymarite. Rescuing Neal will accomplish little if Azathoth is able to snatch him away again."

Lavinia didn't appear to believe that Azathoth wanted to kill Neal, and that was also Peter's assessment. Sornoth could have killed him but didn't. Nyarlathotep hadn't threatened him with bodily harm. That gave them a sliver of hope he could be rescued.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

"Did you sleep on the floor all night?" Neal asked incredulously.

Henry didn't feel embarrassed at all. "So? I bet you had your best sleep ever! Any nightmares?"

"Not since I woke you up," Neal admitted, his cheeks growing red.

"I wasn't asleep. I was making plans. I'll tell you about them over breakfast."

"What about your mom?"

"She's not here. We'll be long gone before she gets back."

Neal's mouth dropped open. "Where are we going?"

"It's a secret." Mainly 'cause he hadn't decided, but Neal didn't need to know that. Henry hadn't been so happy since . . . he couldn't remember when. The way Neal looked at him with big trusting eyes gave him a warm glow. This must be what Batman felt like when he rescued someone. Henry might not have superhero powers, but he had some other talents which would come in very handy.

Meanwhile his kid brother was doing the unthinkable—tidying up.

"There's no need for that," he insisted while Neal folded his blanket.

"We can't leave the blankets on the floor. What if your mom returns?" He set his jaw. "You go ahead. I'll be right there."

Henry grudgingly picked up his blanket and pillow. The Green Lantern never had to make his bed. In the future, they'd use sleeping bags. He needed to add those to his shopping list.

Once the bedroom was neater than it had been in years, Neal finally relented to have breakfast. Henry vowed that Neal would never get a peek in his mom's room, especially not the bathroom. She'd probably left her needles out. Another reason to leave as soon as possible.

Henry fetched the cereal from the kitchen cabinet. "Frosty Flakes okay with you?"

"Sure. I'll get the milk." Neal opened the refrigerator door. When he took the cap off the bottle, he wrinkled his nose. "I don't think we'll want this, but that's okay. I like dry cereal."

"I know! We'll make peanut butter sandwiches and sprinkle Frosty Flakes on top. They'll be the best sandwiches ever! I'll get us some water to drink." No chance of it spoiling.

"You don't happen to have any coffee?" Neal asked.

Henry spun around to stare at him. "You're allowed to drink coffee?"

A bewildered look flashed over Neal's face. "I don't know why I said that. I've never had coffee. It just popped into my head."

Henry shrugged. "I think Mom has some instant." He searched in the cabinet and found the jar. "You wanna smell it first?"

Neal unscrewed the lid, cautiously sniffed the granules, and made a face. "I think I'll pass."

They took their sandwiches into his bedroom to eat. It was much friendlier than any of the other rooms. While they ate, Henry told Neal about the plans he'd made. "You say you need to hide. I need to get away too. Mom won't be back for a week. We can collect some supplies and then take off together. What do you think?"

Neal swallowed a bite of sandwich with a big gulp. "Leave Providence? But I don't have any money."

"Not a problem. I'll get some this morning." The holiday shoppers would be easy marks. There was absolutely no need for Neal to know the source of their finances. The kid was an innocent and didn't understand the ways of the world. Neal still looked tired, and Henry could tell him he needed to rest. "Where would you like to go?" Henry asked. "We can go _anywhere_."

Neal relaxed into a shy smile. "Someplace warm."

"Like Miami? We could lie on the beach, swim in the ocean, learn how to surf." He eyed Neal for a moment. "We'll need new clothes. If we look like we have money, no one will question us traveling alone. Do you have clothes at your house?"

Neal gave him a horrified look. "We can't go back there! It's too dangerous. They're watching for me."

"Calm down. You can stay here. I'll retrieve your clothes for you. They don't know who I am."

He shook his head, still looking panicked. "They'd be onto you before you realized the danger."

Henry snorted to show what a ridiculous notion that was. "They can't catch me. You haven't seen how fast I can run."

Neal shook his head. "It's not that. They're invisible."

He'd mentioned that the previous night, but Henry thought it was simply because he was too worn out to talk straight. Small kiddos had weird fantasies, make-believe friends. Henry remembered how he used to invent stories. Neal probably still believed in Santa Claus. "Like space aliens?" he suggested.

"Exactly! They're space aliens."

How did Neal even know they existed if he couldn't see them? And, supposing for a minute they actually were aliens, what could one small boy have possibly done to get them mad at him? Neal's imagination was crazier than his, and he'd thought he was good at making up stories. But Neal appeared to be calming down at the thought Henry believed him, and it didn't do any harm to let him think that was true.

"Then we'll shop for clothes together. You told me the aliens don't come out during the day."

Neal nodded, but he still looked anxious. "Won't your mom worry about you? Shouldn't we wait till she returns?"

Henry shook his head. "As far as she's concerned I'm a burden. She'll be relieved I'm gone. How about you?"

"There's only one person. Zophar. He said he'd find me, but he should have already." Neal swallowed and didn't say anything for a moment. "He may be dead, too," he added in a low voice.

_Zophar_. That sounded alien. For a moment Henry wondered if Neal's wild tale could possibly be true. By the way his eyes were tearing up, he certainly believed it. "Is there any way you can leave a message for him?"

"I don't have to." Neal slowly reached inside his shirt and pulled out a chain. Suspended from it was a round green metal ornament. "Zophar can find me through this."

"Wow," Henry murmured, eyeing it with awe. It was made of metal with a gem in the center and looked ancient. There was a raised pattern on the disk which resembled twisted snakes. "Is it magical?"

"I never thought of it that way, but I guess it is."

In _Green Lantern_, an alien gave Hal Jordan his magic ring. Neal's Zophar could really be an alien. Did that mean Neal had superpowers? If Henry wore the necklace, would he have superpowers too?

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

After breakfast, Henry left to get cash—he refused to say where—but Neal suspected he'd lift it from shoppers. When Neal lived in Boston, his mom had taken him to see _Oliver Twist _at the cinema. If ever there was an Artful Dodger, it was Henry. Neal supposed he should feel guilty, but he didn't. He'd gladly play the part of Oliver Twist to his benefactor.

When Henry returned, they took off shopping. Their first stop was at a thrift store to buy clothes. Henry explained they'd be safer there. No eyebrows would be raised at someone his age paying cash for his kid brother. Later they ate hot dogs from a street vendor and bought caramel apples. Midafternoon they stopped for hot fudge ice cream sundaes. How Neal would be able to cram in the promised burgers Henry now was craving was a mystery.

The last shop was Neal's favorite. It was a toy store. Henry stopped in because of a display of superhero figures in the shop window. Inside were all sorts of miniatures and train sets. There were working displays of trains which whizzed through towns and countryside. Miniature animals, forts, circuses, moon rockets, soldiers, cowboys—everything imaginable was for sale.

Neal studied the contents of a display cabinet. Henry wanted to buy him something, but Neal couldn't figure out what. Just when Neal thought he'd made his selection, he'd find something else which looked even better.

"Haven't you decided yet?" Henry asked impatiently.

"I can't make up my mind."

"Well, hurry up. I'm getting hungry."

While Henry paid for a Green Lantern plastic figure, Neal scanned the metal miniatures once more.

"Did you find something?" the sales clerk asked.

Neal nodded, suddenly shy. It was probably too expensive, but he decided to ask about it. "Could I see the dragon?"

When he was learning to read, "My Father's Dragon" was one of his favorite books. He used to make his mom read it to him every day. He related to the boy in the story who rescued a baby dragon and fought all sorts of beasts on Wild Island. Back then he hadn't known about the monsters who were circling around his family. That dragon was a link to her.

The clerk smiled at him. "An excellent choice. It's a key ring, so you can use to hold the key to your toy box. It's made of pewter and will never rust."

Like his memories. That's what Gramps said. Mom would be with him as long as he remembered her.

"Go ahead and ring it up!" Henry told the clerk before Neal could stop him.

"You've already gotten me so much," Neal protested. "I can't let you buy me this, too."

"Sure you can." Henry turned to the clerk. "Big brothers are always right, aren't they?"

The clerk nodded solemnly, her lips twitching. "That's been my experience."

"I bet that dragon's magical," Henry asserted as they left the shop. "It'll bring you good luck."

"I think it's already working," Neal said. "Thanks!"

They headed to a diner for the burgers Henry insisted on. While waiting for the food, they pulled out their new possessions to admire.

"I'm glad you didn't order coffee again," Henry said. "Did you see the frown the waitress gave you when you ordered it with your sundae? I thought she was going to have me arrested for being a bad big brother."

"The coffee was delicious. You missed out." Then Neal thought he was being ungrateful after all Henry had done for him. "But if you don't want me to drink it, I won't."

"Trust me." Henry gestured for the waitress. "You're going to enjoy the milkshake so much more."

It was only midafternoon but it was starting to get dark outside. It had been hours since Neal had thought about ghasts. He'd have to be on his guard. "Are we heading back to your place after the diner?"

"Just to put away our stuff. Then we'll go caroling. I know of a large group who sings in a rich neighborhood. We can join them and sing along. I did it last year. The grown-ups invite you in, give you cookies and treats. You'll love it."

Neal had never been caroling. Instead they'd sung carols at home. He had the feeling Zophar wouldn't approve, but he wasn't around to object. It would be a large group. They should be okay.

Henry stood up. "I'll be right back. We need a song on the jukebox."

Neal started to yawn but it turned into a cough. He raised his hand to cover his mouth and stopped, the cough frozen in his throat. The tips of his fingers were blue. Within seconds the color spread to his wrists.

Horrified, he stuck his hands underneath the table before anyone could see them. He tried to relax. They weren't really that blue. It had been a long day. He was just tired.

Henry was dancing to "Alley Oop," prancing about the diner. It made Neal smile to watch him. Cautiously, he sneaked a peek at his hands and exhaled in relief. They were normal color. He must have just imagined it.

The waitress was setting down mammoth-sized hamburgers on the table. He had his good-luck dragon. He was counting on that dragon to help Zophar find him. Zophar would like Henry. The three of them could go to Miami together.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

In the aftermath of Neal's disappearance, the chemistry lab became El's new home. Every waking moment she worked with Cyrus and Lavinia to find a solution. The promising results made the long hours an insignificant price to pay. In the afternoon of the following day, they were able to confirm they'd succeeded in formulating a compound which masked ymarite. It was a bittersweet victory. If only they'd had it ready a couple of days earlier, Azathoth wouldn't have been able to abduct Neal.

Peter had come by for lunch but between his classes and preparations for the trip, he had no time to spare. He'd met with his department head, Eleanor Templeton, who would teach his classes in his absence. He'd also verified that his financial papers were in order.

That evening they were all summoned to Pagna's office. Mozzie had appropriated a corner of the astrophysics lab for her use. The area was secured with walls and a door which could be locked. El suspected that Pagna had also enabled protective devices on her equipment. Her instruments were designed to look like astrophysics apparatus—vacuum chambers, spectrometers, and other devices El was clueless about. But when they were turned on, their alien nature was revealed. Multicolor liquids swirled in waves behind transparent shields. The dials on the instruments were for show only. Pagna controlled the equipment telepathically.

The emotional and physical strain was showing on all their faces. Even Lavinia, who normally was unflappable during any situation, had dark circles under her eyes that her dark brown skin couldn't hide. As for El, it was a good thing she'd asked an associate to take care of her patients that day. They would have thought she was the one who needed to see the doctor.

Pagna scanned the group thoughtfully for a moment. El recognized the expression. It was the look of a doctor assessing a patient's emotional state before sharing disheartening news. "I was able to locate Neal," Pagna said, "and he's not on Tirelia."

El gasped her relief. She must have misread the Meropian. Neal had entered a wormhole of some sort. He was bound to be off-world. The news that he was on Earth instead lifted the anvil pressing down on her heart. Peter clasped her hand but kept his eyes riveted on Pagna.

"That's outstanding news!" Cyrus exclaimed, speaking for them all. "Once he's freed, we can give him the medication in the lab where we can monitor for side effects." The bags under his eyes appeared to diminish as his face took on fresh animation. For all of them, this was the tonic they needed.

But as they excitedly pressed Pagna for details, Lavinia sat impassively. Her face could have been carved out of wood. El had worked closely with Lavinia for weeks. She'd learned to read the minute tells which indicated her emotions. Lavinia was afraid.

The others sensed the mood too, not so much from Lavinia perhaps but from Pagna, who was watching them with sympathy. Her face conveyed sadness, not relief. El braced herself once more.

"Where is he?" Peter asked. "Why is this not good news?" His voice was calm, but he was squeezing El's hand so tightly it began to hurt. She placed her other hand on top of his. "Sorry," he murmured and eased his grip but didn't relinquish it.

"Neal's in Providence, Rhode Island," Pagna said.

El breathed easier. That was only about sixty miles away. The cult must have abducted him.

"In the year 1961," Pagna continued. She waited a minute, letting their exclamations subside. "My instruments are able to track waves not only in space but in time." She turned to Mozzie. "You're familiar with Einstein's theories on the interconnectivity of time and space. Our technology takes advantages of those principles. There is no doubt about the readings. Neal was sent back to December 16, 1961. That date is a few days after his grandfather was killed."

"So now there are two Neals in Providence—an adult and a child?" Peter asked incredulously.

"We don't believe that to be the case," Lavinia said, her frown deepening. "Two examples of the same entity can't exist in such close proximity without canceling each other out. Likely the adult version resides in a coma-like state within the child who is unaware of what happened."

As the rest of the group sat in stunned silence, Mozzie spoke up. "How and why?"

Lavinia appeared to appreciate his unusual terseness. "We believe that Azathoth needed the armillary sphere for the procedure. As to why, I can only speculate. The algolnium within Neal has matured. Azathoth may think the same is true for his Celaenian DNA. By placing him within the body a child, the Ymar could feel he'll be easier to control. Neal as an adult could have ways of resisting the Ymar which he's not yet aware of. Sornoth could have discovered this when he held Neal prisoner. Azathoth wants Neal since to our knowledge he is the only one known to be partially Celaenian. He probably intends to enslave the child and bend him to his will."

"Then the key is the armillary sphere," Peter said. "If we're able to retrieve it, is there a way we can reverse the process?"

Pagna nodded. "You've read how crystals are used in conjunction with the instrument. Azathoth achieved his objective by inserting an Elnathian crystal within the framework. If it's removed, the timeline would be restored and Neal should once more exist in the present time."

"Then we need to set off for Tirelia immediately," Mozzie declared.

Lavinia raised an eyebrow. "And how do you intend to perform that feat? We know of only one wormhole to Tirelia, and Neal alone has the ability to access it. But there's a much more urgent issue confronting us. Up to now, Neal remains in Providence, but that won't last much longer. Azathoth must have ghasts searching for him. Once he's abducted to Tirelia, Azathoth could make it impossible to separate the two entities. Then, even if you somehow recover the armillary sphere, it will be too late to restore the timeline." She paused, locking each one in turn with her eyes. "Do you realize what that means?"

"Gideon went to Earth, masquerading as Phineas, to find Neal," Peter said, his expression even more somber. "He'd be unable to find the boy."

Lavinia nodded. "Precisely. Without Neal's assistance, Gideon would have been unable to close the wormhole in Providence. By now your planet could have been overrun by forces of the Ymar. The cult might have spread throughout the world. The Arkham wormhole would also still be active. The repercussions to your world could be catastrophic."

"Could you somehow travel back in time and rescue Neal before it's too late?" El asked, struggling to find a solution.

"I'm afraid that's not possible," Pagna said, dashing her hopes. "We know about time travel because the Celaenians taught us about it. They'd hoped we'd be able to use the technology to right some of the wrongs inflicted by the Ymar. Unfortunately, we discovered the wave resonances of our species cancel out the needed passageways. In essence, we encounter a solid wall when we enter a time vortex. Neal must not have suffered from the same problem. The amount of Meropian DNA in his system might not have been sufficient or perhaps his Celaenian DNA overrode the effect."

"Can you send humans back in time?" Peter asked.

Pagna nodded. "I believe I can transport you back to Neal's date and location. Once you find him, you could travel together to Tirelia and recover the armillary sphere. We can't go back with you, but we can offer assistance in locating Neal and the sphere. We can also provide the means for you to return to your timeline afterward."

"I sense a potential paradox," Mozzie said. "The armillary sphere was stolen in our timeline. If we return to the past, find Neal, and enter a wormhole, won't Tirelia be in his timeline?"

"Time as we know it doesn't exist within wormholes," Pagna said. "Your odds are improved because Neal's grandfather also found the armillary sphere in Tirelia. Personally, I believe the mechanism which allows time travel in your world won't affect the wormhole. In a sense, when you enter the portal, you'll return to the present."

"There's another factor to keep in mind," Lavinia added. "Celaenians can manipulate time and space. They want the sphere to be found. They could ensure the timeline is the proper one."

El glanced at her husband. He was already steeling himself for the trip. There was no question he'd go, or that she'd be with him. "Cyrus, we'll need to prepare the medication."

"We should be able to suspend it in a liquid," Cyrus agreed. "I can make it cherry-flavored to make it more palatable."

"I fear that's not the only drug he'll need," Lavinia said. "Neal's only eight years old. When he was merged with the adult version of himself, he received a massive infusion of algolnium. He's most likely suffering from algolnium sickness."

"Is that similar to the condition Neal had when you arrived on Earth?" El asked, her alarm making her voice sound rough even to herself.

"This time his symptoms could be even more severe," Lavinia warned. "Back then, Gideon activated the algolnium already present in Neal's body so that he could close the wormhole in Providence. The boy has now received a much stronger dose. If preventative measures aren't taken, he doesn't have long to live. Azathoth may not be aware of the issue. It's also possible he knows how to stabilize the condition."

"Do you?" Peter challenged.

"There's a technique that my species uses for extreme cases," she acknowledged. "It should mitigate the symptoms for perhaps four weeks. That will have to be sufficient for your journey to Tirelia. Since it's never been tested on a hybrid like Neal, I cannot predict what his reaction will be to the drug."

"You want us to take a sick child to Tirelia?" El asked, horrified at the thought.

She huffed impatiently. "You have no choice. You need Neal to enter the wormhole. If the drug performs as it should, Neal will appear healthy and remain that way for about a month. It will take several hours to take effect. You'll need to find someplace safe to allow time for him to recover."

"We could use Levi's cabin—the colleague I'd mentioned," Mozzie offered. "As I recall, he was on sabbatical at Cambridge that year. We often compared notes as I was conducting research in India at the time. His place is close to the forest where the wormhole is."

"There'll be no chance of my path crossing with my younger self," Peter said. "I was in Boston visiting my parents during the Christmas break."

She nodded approval. "You should leave for Tirelia as soon as possible."

"How will I administer the medicine?" El asked, her head filled with concerns about testing an unknown drug on a child. "How difficult will the recovery be?"

Lavinia's face softened. "I'm sorry, Elizabeth, but you won't be able to go. You don't have sufficient algolnium." She turned to Mozzie. "Yours may not be adequate either."

"Yes, it will," he insisted. "I've already been in a wormhole and survived."

El's world was collapsing on her. Just when Neal needed her most, she was abandoning him. Peter would have to go without her.

"You'll be able to train me," Peter murmured.

"Elizabeth, your and Cyrus's work is every bit as vital as those who will travel," Lavinia added. "Assuming they're able to rescue Neal, we'll need to have a permanent means to neutralize the ymarite within him. Otherwise, he'll continue to be at risk. The mask we developed shows we're on the right track, but we still need to formulate a permanent solution. We all have our tasks to perform."

"When do we leave?" Peter asked.

"Gideon will return tomorrow afternoon. That should give us enough time to prepare the drugs and devices you'll need. You and Mozzie should use this time to familiarize yourself with Providence and the surrounding area. Any delay comes with a cost we can ill afford."

* * *

_Notes: While Peter and Mozzie prepare to depart, Henry works on travel plans for himself and Neal. As in Caffrey Conversation, Henry has assumed the mantle of Neal's protector. I wrote about the newest Arkham Files cast member in my blog post "Henry: A Man for All Series."_

_Last Monday was Memorial Day in the States when we honor those who died in the U.S. Military. It's a time of grief for many as they mourn the losses in their family. In this story, Neal is grieving over the deaths of his mother and grandfather. Penna has written movingly about grief and mourning in several of her stories and now she has for the blog. The post is called "Memorial Day thoughts."_

_Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation  
Chapter Visuals and Music: The Time Crystals board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website_


	3. Rifts in Time

**Chapter 3: Rifts in Time**

**Providence. Sunday, December 17, 1961.**

"Do you plan on sleeping forever? Twelve hours should be enough for anyone." Henry yanked the blanket off Neal. "Big skating day, remember!"

Neal sat up and rubbed his eyes. He was still tired, but Henry looked so excited, he didn't say anything. He'd slept again in the closet that night. Henry teased him about it but he felt safer. There'd been no sign of Henry's mom. After tonight they wouldn't have to worry. They were taking the train to Miami tomorrow morning.

Yesterday evening's caroling had been as magical as Henry promised. They'd sneaked into a large group of singers. Everyone thought they were someone else's kids, and no one questioned them. They'd caroled in a rich neighborhood in the heart of downtown Providence. The decorations were spectacular. Some families invited them to have cookies and hot cider in front of their Christmas trees. At home, the trees had always been small with homemade ornaments. Some of these trees were over ten feet tall and looked like works of art. Henry appeared as dazzled as Neal.

When they finally returned to Henry's place, they stayed up late to talk about the Green Lantern. Neal had never read the comic-book series, and Henry insisted on filling him in on Hal Jordan's adventures. Hal was a member of an intergalactic police force. There were alien beings called Guardians of the Universe who looked like humans but were short with blue skin. Henry wanted to know if Zophar was a Guardian. Neal didn't know what to tell him. He'd never seen him blue but he disappeared for long periods of time. Maybe that was when he was blue. It was an unsettling thought. Neal had never thought about himself being an alien, but now his skin was turning blue too. Perhaps that was why he could see ghasts.

"Have you ever skated before?" Henry asked as Neal stretched his arms and tried to look wide awake.

"Mom and I used to go skating"—Neal hesitated for a moment. Zophar had told him not to mention where they were from, but this was Henry. It couldn't do any harm—"on Frog Pond."

"Where's that?"

"Boston."

"You're lucky. I've never lived anywhere else." He broke into a smile. "But that ends tomorrow. We can travel the world together!"

Neal had never considered himself lucky, especially not with what happened to Mom and Gramps. But in comparison with Henry, maybe he was. At least for a while, he'd had a loving family. From the way Henry talked, he never had.

After breakfast, they went to the outside skating rink in City Center Plaza. There was a big Christmas tree erected in front of City Hall which they could see as they skated. Henry didn't own skates and was going to buy them pairs, but Neal pointed out they'd be useless in Miami. They could make do with rented skates.

The rink was packed with families, but even so, Henry managed to sneak in some trick moves.

"Watch this, Neal!" he yelled as he whizzed circles around him and then sped off. Neal took off to chase him.

He'd nearly caught up when his toe caught a rough spot and he went down, sprawling hard on the ice.

A skater stopped to help him up. "Are you okay?"

Neal nodded, the wind knocked out of him. His head felt funny. Breathing was difficult.

"Don't worry, sir," Henry said, skating up. "I'm his brother. I'll take care of him." He wrapped an arm around Neal to support him. "We better get off the ice and let you rest."

Neal's breath came in hitches as he choked back his coughs. Henry had him sit on a bench outside the rink while he dusted the ice off Neal's jeans.

"This was my fault," Henry said, frowning. "I shouldn't have been such a show-off."

"It wasn't you. I was the one who was clumsy."

"Are you sure you aren't hurt?"

Neal nodded quickly, willing it to be true. "Why don't you go back on the ice and I can watch you? I'll join you in a few minutes."

Henry hesitated, clearly torn between the ice and wanting to stay with him.

"I could really use a cup of coffee," Neal added, turning his head when he coughed. "Could you get me one?"

Henry snorted. "It'll stunt your growth, you know. Do you want to stay four feet tall forever?" He stood up. "I'll get you one at the concession stand."

As soon as Henry disappeared into the crowd, Neal cautiously peeled off the glove from one hand. The blue tint was back. His stomach plummeting to the ground, he pulled up his sleeve to see his wrist. The color had now spread up his forearm. That headache pounded so hard, his eyes began to water.

Henry couldn't see him like this. Last time the blueness appeared, it quickly faded. He was probably just cold. The color was faint. As he thought up excuses, he started coughing again. He slipped his gloves back on and didn't dare look at his hands again. By the time Henry returned, the coughs had stopped.

"Here's the coffee." Henry gave him the Styrofoam cup. "It'll warm you up." He waved a cup at him. "I have hot chocolate with marshmallows. I could easily be prevailed upon to get you one of these instead."

"Don't you want to skate some more?"

"Maybe later."

Neal gradually relaxed as they sat on the bench. His headache eased. Henry pretended to be a sportscaster, giving a colorful commentary on the skaters and making up stories about them. They eventually went back on the ice, but Neal skated slowly next to the wall. His legs still felt weak. Henry stayed close and didn't make any other trick moves.

Neal figured the events from the past week were catching up on him and he was just tired. Tomorrow they'd leave for Miami, but Henry said it would be an easy trip and he'd be able to sleep on the train.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Peter steered the car into the faculty parking lot at Derleth Hall. Sunset had occurred a couple of hours ago with no moon to brighten the sky. El took a slow breath when he turned off the ignition, and he reached over to clasp her hand. She was used to him being gone on field expeditions, but nothing about this experience was routine.

He'd spent the day finishing his preparations for what could be an extended absence from home. In the morning he met with Eleanor Templeton, who would substitute for him during the last week of classes. Afterward he and Mozzie pored over a city map, familiarizing themselves with their destination. Mozzie had grown up in Providence. He'd attended high school with Levi Heath. Knowing that their friendship went that far back helped to quiet Peter's unease about borrowing the professor's car and cottage without his knowledge.

El had checked clothing styles and suggested he wear jeans and an old flannel shirt along with a parka for the trip. Classics hadn't changed much over the past fourteen years.

"I wish I could go with you," she murmured, resting her head on his shoulder.

He turned his head to kiss her. "Despite the danger, I do too. Neal needs you, and not just for your medical skills. I'm no good with kids. He may be scared of me. I won't know how to relate to him."

"Treat him like the Neal you know. He's the same person . . . just shorter."

"About two feet shorter."

She chuckled. "Don't loom. You'll be fine. Do you have the book?"

He nodded, patting his coat pocket. "Lavinia believes Neal will need a day to recover. I figured it might help."

"It was a great idea. That proves you'll be better with a child than you think." She glanced around the parking lot. "Gideon's car is already here. We should go in. Knowing that I have a job to do as well makes your departure a tiny bit more bearable."

He squeezed her hand. They'd already said their goodbyes. Peter comforted himself that at least this time the trip was planned. El was spared the shock of an abrupt disappearance.

Mozzie, Lavinia, and Pagna were talking quietly with Gideon when they arrived at the astrophysics lab. Gideon strode over to shake their hands.

"Did we miss anything?" Peter asked.

"Not unless you're fascinated by gravitational wave theory," Gideon said with a brief smile. "Pagna was explaining to Mozzie how she was able to capture Neal's signature through the wormhole and use it to create a path for you."

"All I want to know is if it will work," El said.

"Yes," Gideon said, exuding the calm assurance Peter and El both needed. "Based on the testing Pagna has done, I'm confident Mozzie and Peter can be transported back to Providence. Moreover, they'll be able to return safely. The major issue is duration. The process of maintaining your identity in the past is a drain on the algolnium reserve in your body. Peter, you should be in good shape for a month. That should give you adequate time to accomplish the mission. For Mozzie, though"—he turned to face him—"you may be able to remain only one to two weeks."

"What will happen then?" El asked anxiously.

"He should reemerge safely in our timeline without having suffered any injury, but he'll no longer be able to provide assistance to Peter and Neal. It's something you need to keep in mind."

"Can't you give me more algolnium?" Mozzie asked Lavinia.

"It would do no good. Algolnium needs time to self-replicate, and we can't afford to delay."

Mozzie exhaled. "Then we'll just have to make quick work of it. We know where Neal lived. We have a photo. How hard can he be to find?"

"But he won't be at his house," Gideon warned. "Zophar told the council that ghasts attacked on the evening of December 13. Neal's grandfather was killed in the initial assault. Zophar ordered the boy to hide while he drew the ghasts away. I was on another world when Zophar contacted us. By the time I arrived on Earth, Zophar was in the neighboring town of Smithfield. That was on December 23. He'd successfully lured the ghasts away from Providence but had been mortally wounded. He'd been unable to communicate with Neal." Gideon handed Peter what appeared to be an antique brass compass. "This is what Zophar gave me. I had it tested on our home base and it still reads true. It will direct you to Neal."

"I reran my test just before you arrived," Pagna added, "and Neal is still in central Providence. I'm unable to pinpoint it further, but you should be able to use this compass to locate him. It's configured to point to Neal's location."

Peter examined the small brass device. It looked Renaissance in design and was attached to a chain he could wear around his neck. He slipped it over his head.

"In addition, you'll need this." Gideon passed him an instrument somewhat larger in size, about two inches in diameter. It appeared to be made of gold. Gideon opened the case to reveal an intricate array of dials and symbols.

Mozzie had moved over to stand next to Peter and was scrutinizing it closely. "This is a compendium. Is it the one which belonged to Laban Shrewsbury?"

Gideon nodded. "We believe Laban found it in an antique store in Lyon. It could have been made by the Celaenian who gave Heinrich Agrippa the armillary sphere. Laban inadvertently sent Celaeno a distress call when he played with the dials. Zophar later acquired the device and now I give it to you."

"I've reconfigured it," Pagna said. "When you press the button on the right inner surface and hold it for three seconds, you and anyone touching you will return to our time in Arkham. The button on the left side will send a signal to Gideon."

Peter was relieved to see the compendium also had a chain attached so he could secure it around his neck. This device was the lifeline to return home. Mozzie was looking at the instruments longingly, and Peter wished he could share the responsibility with him. But given the uncertainty over how long Mozzie would remain in the past, the burden would be his alone.

"Once you and Neal have returned from Tirelia, send me a signal. It should only take me a couple of hours at most to arrive," Gideon said, handing him a small metal case. "When you see me, give me this. Inside is an explanation of your mission. Don't attempt to open the case. It's sealed against non-Meropians."

_If we return_ . . . Peter didn't voice aloud his fear about being able to survive the trip to the world of Azathoth.

"Once we're on Tirelia, what then?" Mozzie asked. "All we know is we need to recover the armillary sphere. A few specifics would be helpful."

"That's what I've been attempting to find out on our home base," Gideon said calmly, unruffled by his sarcasm.

"My readings indicate the sphere is in the Zan Mountains in the northern region of the continent," Pagna supplied.

"Most likely, it's in Azathoth's fortress on Kadath," Gideon added. "That's where Andrew and Zophar found it. I was able to find one sketchy description of Tirelia made by a Meropian who'd accompanied a Celaenian and entered the wormhole you'll use. She reported that you'll exit in a cave in a patch of woodlands not far from the port town of Hlanith. You should seek passage on a ship to take you to the northern port of Inquanok. From there you'll need to trek northeast to the mountains." He handed Peter a sheet of paper. "This contains the instructions. I realize they're woefully inadequate. Part of the challenge will be talking with locals to determine the correct route."

Peter supposed he should feel more dismay at the confirmation to what deep inside he already knew—the vision Neal had experienced of Azathoth's fortress was their destination. El clutched his hand but didn't say anything. They'd already discussed the likelihood and had prepared themselves as much as they could.

"Notice the button at the bottom of your compass," Pagna said. "If you depress it, the compass will indicate the location of the armillary sphere. You'll want to use that setting once you're on Tirelia. You can switch from targeting Neal to the armillary sphere at any time. If the sphere is not on the planet, the needle will spin constantly. Then you'll have no choice but to abort the mission and return home."

"The same is true for Neal," Lavinia added. "If Azathoth's agents abduct Neal to an off-world location before you find him, the compass will start to spin freely."

"We'll make sure that doesn't happen," Mozzie said firmly. Confident words, but they were meaningless. They were pinning their hopes on luck and a prayer that they'd arrive in time.

A thousand questions whirled in Peter's mind. What currency would they use? He knew the Tirelians resembled humans but surely they didn't speak English. Would they have to steal their food, their clothes? What would the weather be like?

Pagna handed each of them a cloth knapsack. "I've prepared clothes which should help you blend in with Tirelians. There's also a set for Neal."

"You sew too?" El asked incredulously.

Pagna smiled. "Not in the way you do. It's a matter of chemistry and programming."

Peter eyed the machinery around him, realizing more than ever how little he understood of their capabilities. Lavinia refocused his attention when she held up a small gold pendant on a chain. Embedded in the pendant was a turquoise translucent stone.

"The pendant is a translator," Lavinia said. "When you wear it, you'll be able to speak and read Tirelian. The inhabitants will believe you're a native speaker, but it will seem to you that you're conversing in English. Guard it well." She gave it to Mozzie and retrieved a second one from her bag for Peter. He and El scrutinized the stone. When he viewed it close-up, he could see undulating waves under the surface which reminded him of Pagna's instruments.

"Where's Neal's?" Mozzie asked.

"He won't need one," Lavinia said. "He already has the ability. His aptitude for languages is a byproduct of his DNA. In the algolnium-rich atmosphere of Tirelia, his skill will increase exponentially."

Gideon retrieved a small dark brown leather pouch from his jacket pocket and shook out some of its contents onto his palm. Large baroque pearls of varying shapes glistened on his palm. "The Tirelians use metal coins for currency. Your translators will probably call them shillings. We don't have any to give you, but pearls are a prized commodity in Hlanith, the seaport where you'll arrive. You'll be able to sell these. Tirelians prefer unusual shapes. These should provide adequate funds."

Lavinia picked up two small vials the size of perfume bottles and gave them to Peter. "These bottles contain Neal's medications."

"The liquid inside the rose-colored bottle will mask the ymarite," El explained. "You should have him drink it as soon as you find him."

"It tastes good—like cherry soda," Cyrus said. His weary face crinkled into a smile. "He'll probably ask for more."

"Remember that the protective effects won't last indefinitely," Lavinia warned. "As for the black-colored bottle, it contains the medicine to help him tolerate the heightened levels of algolnium. Wait till you're in a safe house to administer it. For our species, the most common side effect is a high fever which lasts three to four hours. We hope Neal will be able to tolerate the additional algolnium for a month, but it could be only for a couple of weeks."

El gave him a bottle of unmarked children's aspirin for his duffel bag. "Use cold compresses and cold baths if the fever is extreme."

"Neal's tougher than he's given credit for," Mozzie declared. "He'll recover quickly. We'll find the armillary sphere, and be home for Christmas."

For once, Mozzie's overconfidence was welcome. Peter forced himself to pretend to be equally positive. Lavinia had spent the past fourteen years on Earth, protecting Neal, working to give humans a fighting chance against the Ymar. Behind the impassive mask, Peter knew the anxiety she must be experiencing. This was a mission that simply could not fail.

The final instructions had been given. After they'd checked their gear, Peter embraced El, trying not to think about when he'd be able to do so again.

When he and Mozzie said they were ready, Pagna had them stand in a circle she'd drawn on the floor in front of one of her instruments. There were no dials to press. She simply hovered a hand over a display monitor. Peter watched the swirling colors realigned themselves as she issued telepathic commands.

At Pagna's nod, Peter gave El a thumbs up. She responded with a radiant smile even as her eyes sparkled with unshed tears.

His surroundings faded . . .

**Providence. Monday, December 18, 1961. **

"I'm sure I'll be better by this evening," Neal insisted. "Is there a late train we can catch?"

"I'll check into it," Henry promised simply to placate him. Probably the only place Neal should go was the hospital. His skin felt like a furnace. Wasn't aspirin supposed to reduce a fever? "Try to get some sleep."

"That's all I've been doing." When Neal stopped to cough, Henry handed him a glass of water. "That doesn't help," he mumbled, his voice raspy.

"You want another peanut butter sandwich? It might coat your throat."

He shook his head. "Not hungry." He reached for the top comic on the stack Henry had piled on the bed. Henry predicted he'd be asleep in five minutes. He'd then make a run to the drugstore. He was way over his head. Neal needed help, but Henry didn't know where he'd find it. Maybe the pharmacist could suggest something.

The troubles began when they came back from ice skating. Neal had seemed a little off on the rink. In the evening, he began to cough intermittently. When he fell asleep during an episode of _The Bullwinkle Show, _Henry knew they were in trouble. Who sleeps during Bullwinkle? Neal was so out of it, he didn't protest when Henry insisted he take the bed. Neither one of them slept much. Every time Neal coughed, he woke Henry up.

It didn't seem like Neal had a cold despite the coughs. He wasn't sniffling and didn't appear congested. The worst was when he turned blue. Weirdest thing Henry had ever seen. Base case, Neal had pale skin, but when he had a coughing attack, he turned ice blue.

It freaked Neal out as much as him. When Henry quizzed him about it, he admitted he'd had a couple of earlier attacks but never before Saturday. Henry had seen an episode of _Dr. Kildare_ where a patient turned blue because she had asthma. With Neal, the attacks didn't last very long—usually less than five minutes, but his fever continued to increase.

It might be best for them to go ahead and leave. At least on the train, Neal wouldn't worry so much. Their duffels were already packed. Henry had helped himself to enough wallets yesterday that they had plenty of money to take a taxi. Mom had said she wouldn't be back for a week, but if she came home earlier, he'd be sunk.

When Neal fell back asleep, Henry sped off for the drugstore. The enemies Neal was so worried about supposedly only came out at night. It should be safe to leave him for a few minutes.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

_Whump!_

Peter fell to his knees. He heard Mozzie's groan as he collapsed next to him.

"Ow," Mozzie muttered, rubbing his knee. "There's pavement under the snow."

Peter was luckier. He could feel dried grass beneath him. "Is your knee all right?" he asked, holding out a hand to help him up.

"I'll walk it off." He looked around curiously. "Pagna said she'd try to place us in Burnside Park close to Neal's house. Her aim was spot on."

They were standing at the edge of a small urban park surrounded by tall buildings. A large fountain was in the center of the park. They'd landed near an equestrian statue, narrowly missing a clump of tall trees. Peter spent only a moment contemplating what would have happened if they'd landed on top of one of the evergreens.

"You see that cluster of buildings?" Mozzie said, pointing to the left. "That's where City Hall is. There's an outdoor skating rink in front which is quite popular in winter."

Peter counted his blessings once more that Mozzie was so familiar with the city. "You've established we're in Providence. Now to find out the date." He walked over to a newspaper vending machine for the _Providence Journal_, with Mozzie on his heels.

"Monday, December 18, 1961." Mozzie took a breath. "Pagna came through." A middle-aged woman was walking past them on the sidewalk, and Mozzie went up to her. "Excuse me, could you tell me what time it is?"

The woman pushed up her coat sleeve to check her watch. "It's nine thirty. The stores will be opening soon."

Peter stood to one side and waited till she left before pulling out his compass. The needle pointed to the northwest.

Mozzie peered at the instrument. "That's the direction of the historic district where Neal's home was. Gideon said Zophar told him to flee five days ago. He may have stayed somewhere nearby."

"How far away is your friend's house?"

"About a fifteen-minute walk. Levi lives near Brown University. Once we cross the river, we'll be very close. His car should be in the garage."

At Peter's urging, Mozzie had double-checked that his colleague was teaching at Cambridge University that year. Mozzie knew where he hid spare keys to his car and claimed he'd borrowed it a few times in the past. Peter promised himself that when they returned to the present, he'd make a donation to the Brown University astronomy department.

On the walk over, Peter familiarized himself with the look and feel of life in 1961. Women's hairstyles were much more bouffant. Not a single pair of bell-bottoms to be seen. And men wore their hair much shorter than what he'd grown accustomed to. The older model cars made him feel like he was on a movie set.

When they arrived on Levi's block, a quiet residential street, there were few pedestrians out. Levi's townhouse had a built-in garage on the ground floor. Mozzie sauntered over as if he had every right to be there, and Peter tried to imitate him.

The garage door was secured with a combination lock, but Mozzie knew the sequence. "Luckily, Levi made it an easy one," Mozzie said as he twirled the dial.

"He might have used a different number in 1961," Peter pointed out.

"Hardly. This number is a constant, the universal gravitational constant to be precise." Mozzie chuckled. "Levi was confident a burglar wouldn't think of 66-74-08."

Astronomy humor. Mozzie's brand of antacid helped to loosen the tight knot which had lodged in Peter's stomach when Neal was abducted.

Levi's car was a '50s Chevy station wagon. Mozzie explained that the professor used it to haul telescopes and students to his cottage. The car keys were in a glass mayonnaise jar which was hidden among his tools in a shelving unit of the garage. "I'd suggested the hiding place to him," Mozzie said proudly. "It's hard to go wrong with a classic."

Levi stored a couple of blankets and an emergency kit in the back of the station wagon. Peter scanned the garage quickly to see if there was anything else they might need. A thermos on a shelf by the workbench could be useful. Mozzie took a snow shovel for the cottage. Now all they needed was one small boy, likely terrified, who most likely would have no idea who they were. Somehow they'd have to convince him they were on his side.

With Peter keeping his eyes glued to the compass and Mozzie focused on the road, they set off on the search. Mozzie controlled his normal inner speed demon and drove exceptionally cautiously. They didn't dare risk a traffic accident. Neither one of them was carrying any identification, and they only had cash in their wallets.

Pagna had assured him that if Neal was no longer on Earth, the needle would have spun in an endless loop but that still left a lot of ground to cover. Still, how far could one child travel on foot?

As it turned out, not very far. An hour later, they'd narrowed their search to a cluster of buildings in a depressed section of downtown. Peter estimated it would have taken Neal roughly a half-hour to walk there from his home. It was a narrow street of tenement buildings with shops on the ground floors, including a liquor store, laundry, and adult bookstore.

Mozzie parked the car on the street. By slowly walking past the buildings they were able to narrow the parameters. The compass was more precise than Peter realized. It pinpointed Neal's location to the building with an adult book store, but the compass was useless to indicate which floor he was on.

They stood across the street by a newsstand, weighing their options. "Somehow I can't see Neal selecting that bookstore for his hiding place," Mozzie said. "We could go apartment by apartment."

"We may not need to." Peter nodded up the street. "That boy looks familiar. Brown hair, freckles—he resembles the face I saw in my vision. And he's heading toward the building. He may be a friend of Neal's."

"Notice that drugstore bag he's carrying. It could be medicine. Neal may be showing symptoms of algolnium sickness."

"Let's find out if he knows anything."

"We don't want to scare him off," Mozzie warned. "You better let me handle it."

Peter glared at him. "Why? I'm not scary."

He shrugged. "You can be a little intimidating. Besides, I'm closer to his height." Mozzie ambled across the street and Peter followed, hunching his shoulders a little, and concentrating on non-threatening thoughts.

When they drew near, Mozzie pulled out his map and called out, "Excuse me, could you help us with directions?"

As the boy scanned them warily, Mozzie added, "We're strangers in town and trying to find Dorrance Street." That was the name of the street where Neal lived. If it had a special significance to the boy, he hid any indication of it.

"It's several blocks away," he said, pointing it out on the map.

Peter picked up on Mozzie's cue. "We're friends of a boy who lives there. He's a few years younger than you. We've traveled a long way to see him." Taking a risk, Peter pulled out his wallet and showed him the photo of Neal which was taken when he was found in Arkham. "This is Neal. Have you seen him?"

The boy's face flashed recognition for an instant but he quickly concealed it. "Who are you? The Two Wise Men? Aren't there supposed to be three of you?"

A smart aleck? Peter felt on more comfortable ground. "Maybe _you're_ the third." He nodded toward the boy's bag. "Neal may be sick. We're here to help him."

"I don't know who you're talking about, but these are for my kid brother."

So those were medicines, and despite the bluster, the boy was scared. He looked ready to bolt.

Mozzie extended a hand. "As one Wise Man to another, allow me to introduce myself. I'm Mozzie."

That stopped the boy in his tracks. Startled, he stared at him for a moment before taking his hand. "Henry."

"And I'm Peter."

His eyes widened even further. "Maybe you _are_ the Wise Men. Do you know Zophar?"

"We haven't met," Mozzie said, "but we know he's a friend of Neal's. We have news about him for Neal."

"Please help us," Peter added, deciding to make a direct appeal. "We have medicine which Neal needs to get better."

Henry hesitated for a long moment. "My brother may know about the boy you're looking for." He jerked his head to the left. "Stand over there by the newsstand and don't move. I'll be back." With that, he entered the building and disappeared from sight.

"His apartment must overlook the street," Mozzie muttered as they crossed the street. "He's going to ask Neal to look at us."

"I wonder how much Neal has told him. The boy knows about Zophar."

"And us, as well. Somehow our names were familiar to him. Neal may remember who we are."

"Does that mean the adult is conscious? That would make our challenge so much simpler." Peter turned to face the tenement building. "But we should be prepared for the worst case scenario. How will we convince Neal to leave with us if he doesn't remember us?"

Mozzie began scanning the windows. "Henry's appointed himself his protector. His parents know about Neal. We could be arrested for kidnapping if we don't handle it—there he is! Third-floor window."

Peter looked up in time to see a small face peer through the glass before darting down. "Could you make out his expression?"

"He wasn't smiling."

Henry walked out a few minutes later. "You can come up, but I warn you. My father's coming home in a few minutes. He's a cop so don't try anything funny."

They followed Henry into the building. As they jogged up the stairs, Peter knew he couldn't ask questions without Henry taking them the wrong way. Instead he talked about his younger brother Tommy. Mozzie eyed him curiously. He might think he was making up the stories. Neal knew about Tommy but probably hadn't mentioned him to Mozzie. His brother was a few years older than Neal and had been killed during the Vietnam War. Peter had been very protective of him when they were growing up. Henry appeared to feel the same way about Neal. The stories could help him relate better to Peter.

Henry stopped in front of a battered door. "Neal's inside," Henry said, taking a breath. "He wants to see you, but you gotta promise to leave when he tells you to."

"We will," Peter said, with a warning hand on Mozzie's arm to not contradict him.

The tawdry apartment they walked into was not what he expected. The stained rugs, garish colors, the _Playboy _pinups on the walls . . . This was no _Father Knows Best_ situation. "Is your mom home?"

"Nah." He took a quick glance at the room and reddened. "Don't pay any attention to the living room. I've been keeping Neal safe. He's been staying in my room."

That spoke volumes. Henry's folks might not even know about Neal.

Henry opened the door to the bedroom. Neal was standing next to the wall as far away as possible from the door. As he stared at them, there was no sign of recognition on his face, just anxiety. Peter's fears were confirmed. The adult Neal was not conscious. In front of him was one scared, sick little boy. His skin had a pale blue tinge, a symptom that he wasn't getting enough oxygen in his blood. His forehead was sweaty with his hair clumped into spikes. Peter wagered Henry had gone to the pharmacy to get something for a fever. As soon as they entered the room, Henry darted over to stand beside Neal. Even convincing him to take the liquid which would mask ymarite suddenly seemed much more difficult.

Peter wanted to rush forward, but he knew he couldn't. "Hi, Neal, it's good to see you," he said as gently as he could.

"We're very grateful to Henry for helping you," Mozzie added.

"Henry said you have news about Zophar." Neal's high-pitched voice was a raspy croak.

"Zophar's left Providence. He's attempting to lead the . . . your enemies away," Peter said. "He sent word to us about you." He and Mozzie had already agreed to be as honest as possible with Neal. Peter was blurring the truth lines, but one could argue that by telling Gideon what happened, Zophar had obliquely communicated with Peter and Mozzie.

"Is he all right?" Neal asked.

"We believe so, but we haven't been able to contact him," Mozzie said. That was true as far as they knew. On this date, Gideon had yet to arrive on Earth. It was possible that Zophar was still uninjured. Peter wished there some way they could help the Meropian. Gideon had warned him not to try. That may have been the reason why Gideon hadn't told them where he found Zophar. He knew the temptation would gnaw at them. If they tried to interfere, unforeseen complications could obliterate any chance of a successful mission to Tirelia.

Mozzie glanced at his watch. "It's close to lunchtime. How about we bring some food in? It will give us a chance to get acquainted. Peter's an excellent scrounger. What would you like?"

Mozzie was ad-libbing, but it wasn't a bad plan. Henry jumped on the offer, saying there was a hamburger joint down the street. Peter suspected they didn't have to worry about his cop father showing up.

"Their cheeseburgers are excellent," Henry said. "We'll need four jumbo fries, chocolate milkshakes—oh, and black coffee for Neal." Henry grinned. "He's a weird kid."

Henry didn't know how weird. That coffee habit must be coming from the adult Neal trapped within him. It gave Peter hope that Neal was influencing the child in other ways.

Mozzie walked out with Peter to the living room. "Take your time getting the food," he muttered. "There's something else going on here. We need to know more about Henry. I'll try to get them to open up."

Peter agreed. Without Henry's cooperation, it would be a daunting challenge to convince Neal to leave.

* * *

__Notes: Peter and Mozzie have made it back to Providence, but Henry's presence adds an unexpected wrinkle. _Mozzie provides a solution in the next chapter. As co-writer of this story, Mozzie has carved out a larger role for himself than the parts Diana wrote for him in previous stories. He also pointed out that it's been too long since he was featured in the blog. I can take a hint. My post this week is called "Mozzie the Road Warrior." _

_Penna and I have been writing about the characters in Caffrey Conversation for over 5 years. I guess it's to be expected that by now the characters feel so comfortable with us, they can be bossy at times. Even the sweetest character may try to wrestle control of a story away from us. Penna wrote about what happened to her earlier this week. Her post is called "When characters get out of hand." Personally, I was thrilled at what the characters suggested and hope she'll agree to do it. She'll probably need extra persuasion. Feel free to leave comments._

_Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation_  
_Chapter Visuals and Music: The Time Crystals board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website_


	4. Transference

**Chapter 4: Transference**

**Providence. Monday, December 18, 1961. **

"I could eat these every day," Henry declared as he unwrapped his cheeseburger.

When Peter returned with lunch supplies, everyone was still in the bedroom and that's where they wound up picnicking. He hadn't had a chance to talk with Mozzie in private beforehand, but when he passed out the food, Mozzie muttered for him to follow his lead.

To all appearances, Mozzie had adopted the role of jovial uncle as he chatted about comic books and the superhero posters mounted on the walls.

They all sat on the floor which was in desperate need of a thorough vacuuming. Neal had his back braced against the bed. Henry was sitting on one side of him and Peter took the other side. Mozzie sat diagonally opposite from Henry. Neal only ate a few bites but he looked alert. Henry had mentioned he'd given him children's aspirin. Peter hoped they could make it to the cottage before his condition worsened.

Over lunch, Mozzie expounded at length on his favorite comic, _Starman_. Peter suspected he liked to think he resembled the hero who was an astronomer and expert scientist. The boys might not have heard of the superhero since he was popular before their time. They certainly appeared to be enthralled with Mozzie's rendition of his adventures.

Afterward, Peter decided the ice had been broken enough that he could wade into delicate waters. Not addressing Neal for the moment, he asked Henry, "When we introduced ourselves, you seemed to be familiar with our names."

Henry hesitated and glanced at Neal.

"Henry told me I called out your names in my sleep," Neal said.

"I thought he said 'Mousie' and was into Mickey Mouse," Henry added. "Since you're friends with Zophar, you probably know Neal's not really my brother." He set his jaw defiantly. "But I wish he were."

Neal took a sip of coffee. It was such a familiar gesture for the adult Neal to make and seemed so wrong for a child. "Henry found me on the streets. He gave me a place to stay. I might not be alive if it weren't for him."

Henry's face flushed at his words. "Neal's family now."

Mozzie cleared his throat as if to emphasize the difficulty they faced.

Peter decided to postpone questioning Neal on how he knew their names. It was clear he didn't remember who they were. "Zophar told us you'd fled your home last Wednesday." He hoped the factual detail would add to the trust they were trying to build. "When did Henry find you?"

"Friday evening."

"How long have you been drinking coffee?" Mozzie asked.

"Only for the past few days. I can't remember ever having liked the stuff before although Mom—" He stopped abruptly, his face turning white.

"It's okay," Peter said, trying to make his voice as gentle as possible. "We know about what happened to your mom . . . and your grandfather. You can trust us."

"How do you know? Did Zophar tell you?"

Mozzie jumped in while Peter was struggling over how to reply. "Friends of his told us." Mozzie gazed at the ceiling as he traced an upward spiral with his hand. "They're from up there."

"I knew it!" Henry exclaimed, slapping his thigh. "You're aliens! Are you Guardians? Like Guardians of the Universe?"

Peter groaned to himself. What now?

Henry quickly added, "Don't worry. Your secret is safe with me." He turned to Neal. "I should have realized the truth when you showed me your amulet. And now you're turning blue. The Guardians of the Universe are blue in _Green Lantern_, but I didn't believe you actually existed."

Neal looked at him, horrified. "You noticed?"

"It's okay," he said, patting him on the shoulder. "You can't deny your heritage. It's who you are."

Mozzie smiled benignly at Henry. "I knew you'd understand."

Henry might think he'd figured it out, but not Neal. He was staring at his bluish hands, his face troubled. Peter, acting on impulse, clasped them. They were disturbingly hot to the touch. "It's gonna be okay," he murmured. "We're on your side. I'll explain everything later."

Neal looked up at him, furrowing his brow as he studied his face. "Do I know you?" he whispered.

Peter nodded. "You know both me and Mozzie. That's why you called out to us."

"Those bad guys who are after Neal, are they also space aliens?" Henry asked.

"That's right," Mozzie said. "They're tracking Neal, but we brought a magic elixir which will help protect him."

Peter removed the garnet-colored bottle from his jacket. "This was made by one of Zophar's cousins. It will keep you hidden from your enemies."

"You better drink it quick," Henry said. "When you mentioned they were invisible, I thought you were making it up, but it makes sense now."

Peter took off the cap. A faint fragrance of wild cherry escaped from the bottle. He handed it to Neal.

The boy hesitated and sniffed the contents. He sniffed again, his face brightening. "Was this made by a lady who has monkeys?"

Peter smiled. Had Lavinia managed to convey some message in the fragrance? A signal to Neal that they could be trusted? "They look like monkeys but they're not."

"What are their names?"

"Ch'uli and Ch'orri. They have silver-colored fur with green spots and are especially fond of cookies. You'd like them."

He gave a shy smile, the first one Peter had seen. "How much of this should I drink?"

"All of it," Peter said, giving him what he hoped was an encouraging nod.

"Okay." Raising the bottle to his lips, Neal drained the contents.

The first battle was won. Peter wished he could go ahead and give the boy the second medication, but Lavinia had warned they needed to wait till they were in a secure location where Neal could rest. How would they be able to convince Henry not to come along? Peter decided to send up a trial balloon. "After lunch, we'll need to leave." He held his breath, waiting for their reaction.

"We were already planning to," Henry said eagerly. "Our bags are packed." He nodded to two Army duffel bags in the corner. "Where are we going? To your planet?"

"We need to go someplace where Neal can heal first," Mozzie said. "You need some of that, too."

Where was Mozzie going with this? Alarm bells sounded in Peter's brain about lying to the boys. Neal was looking pleadingly at Peter and Mozzie to do the right thing, but that certainly didn't involve abducting a boy from his family. And what did Henry mean about leaving?

But Mozzie seemed quite confident as if he knew exactly what needed to be done. "Hal Jordan had to receive training before he was ready for the Green Lantern Corps. So do you. It's not easy for a human to join the Guardians."

Henry was gazing at him wide-eyed as if he believed every word. Peter kept his sputters to himself till he could figure out how to extricate themselves from the hole Mozzie was digging.

"There's a place we can take you where you'll be safe and well cared for. You can still see your mom if you wish, but if you don't, our representative, Mr. Jensen, will take care of it for you. I myself trained with Mr. Jensen. He'll give you the skills you need for the adventures which lay ahead. If you like, we can take you there on our way."

Peter stood up, having heard more than enough. "Boys, why don't you finish your lunch, while I confer with my colleague."

"Excellent idea," his fellow Guardian agreed, standing up.

He followed Peter into the kitchen. As soon as they were a safe distance away, Peter let him have it as forcefully as he could in a whisper. "What are you doing? We can't possibly take Henry away from his parents!"

He held up a hand. "Don't judge till you know the facts. Henry was planning to run away with Neal. It quickly became clear that Neal won't leave him unless he's in a safe situation. I was able to poke around while you were picking up lunch. Henry has no father. His mom's on drugs—I found the needles in her bathroom. If you took one look at her bedroom, you'd know how she pays for her habit, although Henry claims she works as a waitress. She left him last Friday and told him she probably wouldn't be back for a week."

From the little he'd seen of the apartment, Peter had no desire to defend Henry's mom. The place was filthy. Henry's room was the cleanest of the lot. "Who is Mr. Jensen?"

"He runs a shelter for orphans and abused kids. I wasn't lying. I grew up there." Mozzie hesitated for a moment. "I never knew who my parents were. That shelter was my home through high school. Mr. Jensen is a good man. Henry needs someone like him in his life."

Peter hadn't known about his childhood. That cast a different light on why he'd stepped up to help Neal when he was living with foster parents.

"Mr. Jensen will be the ideal surrogate," Mozzie continued. "I'll speak to him and explain Henry's situation. The mother could be charged with child abandonment. From what Henry said, she'll likely be happy to see him off her hands. In any case, she'll be able to visit. The shelter is owned by the Episcopalian Church. They run a school in conjunction with it."

"How can you arrange everything so quickly?"

"I've kept in touch with Mr. Jensen through the years. Sometimes kids wander in and refuse to reveal anything about themselves. He still accepts them. The facility is in East Providence. That's on the way to Levi's cottage. Believe me, this is the best solution, and one Neal will accept."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal looked at the red brick building. It looked hospitable. He could see a Christmas tree through one of the front windows. There were some kids about Henry's age making a snowman in the front yard. He turned to Henry. "I bet your snowman will be the best one there."

Henry's expression was hard to read. Hope mingled with nervousness? "I wish we could make one together."

"Me too." Neal stopped to cough. He knew they didn't have much time, but Peter and Mozzie weren't rushing them. He reached into his duffel bag and pulled out his gift. He'd used the Sunday comics for wrapping paper. "This is for you. You should wait till Christmas to open it."

Henry reddened. "But I didn't get you anything."

"Yes, you did," Neal insisted. "You gave me a home, food, and clothes. You gave me this." He pulled the dragon out of his pocket. "I'm gonna name it Henry."

His face lit up. "I think I'd like being a dragon. You better get well quick so you can come back and visit me." He glanced at the grown-ups. "When you're back on Earth, I mean."

"That may be a while," Peter cautioned.

"But I will if I can," Neal said. "I promise."

"We should probably go inside," Mozzie urged, not contradicting him. Neal hoped it wouldn't be long before he'd see Henry again. Zophar would like him, too. After one final hug, Henry exited the car with Mozzie. Peter also got out to say goodbye. Neal watched from the backseat till Henry went inside the building. Peter had brought along a blanket and Neal burrowed deeper inside his nest, clutching the dragon.

Peter opened the door and slid into the back seat next to him. "Henry will be well taken care of."

Neal nodded. A big rock in his throat was making it difficult to talk, but Peter seemed to understand.

"Mozzie will stay with Henry till all the arrangements are made. If the car gets cold, I'll put on the heat."

"We're parked in the sun," Neal, said after swallowing the rock. "Do you want some of my blanket? I'm hot."

"That's because you're running a fever. You'll be able to take more aspirin in another hour." Peter poured out some water from the thermos and handed it to him.

Neal propped himself up against the back door and studied him while drinking the water in small sips. Was this the man he'd dreamed about? The voice seemed familiar. The more he heard Peter's voice, the more he remembered. "I think I must have dreamed about you. I know your voice. There's also a pretty woman with dark hair."

"That's probably my wife, Elizabeth. You call her El."

Neal twisted the word on his tongue, but it didn't have any significance.

"You own a dog."

He smiled. "That's Satchmo. He's a yellow Lab."

"Just like in my dream. How's that possible?"

Peter took a slow breath. "This will be hard to believe but you deserve the truth. Mozzie and I know you fourteen years from now when you're twenty-two years old. We all live in Arkham. Your enemies kidnapped you and sent you back in time to the boy you are now. Zophar's friends helped us travel back in time to find you. "

He studied him intently as Neal tried to puzzle out his meaning. He'd heard about Arkham. Gramps had worked for a while at its famous university. "You mean there's a grown-up me inside me?"

"That's right," he said, relief showing in his face. "That's why you suddenly like coffee. It's why you remember me. We're very good friends in the future."

Neal covered his mouth as he coughed. He usually tried not to think about his future, but suddenly it didn't seem so bleak. "Did Azathoth do this?"

"You know about him?" he asked, looking startled.

Neal nodded. "Azathoth's one of the Ymar. The Starry Wisdom cult worships him. After Mom died, Zophar and Gramps told me. They said Azathoth is looking for us."

"Did they ever tell you about a brass sphere of rings? It looks a little bit like a globe."

"The armillary sphere? Gramps showed it to me when he returned from Tirelia."

Peter smiled. "Mozzie will be very pleased you know its correct name. The sphere was lost for many years. We discovered it a few months ago, but a cult member stole it from us. We believe Azathoth somehow acquired it and is keeping it in Tirelia. He used it to kidnap your adult self. We need to get it back to make things right."

"That's why Henry can't come with us." Neal hugged his knees. He'd heard stories about Tirelia. It had to be better than staying here with ghasts looking for him. Zophar was away. Mom and Gramps were dead. If Henry stayed with him, he'd likely be killed too.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Henry pulled out his gift from his duffel bag. It had to be something Neal had made since Henry hadn't let him leave the apartment by himself. It didn't weigh much and was shaped like a tube. Maybe a picture. Henry had seen Neal eyeing his stash of crayons.

Mozzie and Mr. Jensen had gone to another room to talk, and he was waiting in a small classroom for them to return. Mr. Jensen was nice. His short cropped hair had a dusting of gray, but he looked friendly and had a smile which lit up his brown skin. This is where Henry would train to join the Green Lantern Corps. Mozzie told him no one must know. No one would believe him anyway. But it was like he'd been living his entire life for this moment.

He wished Neal could stay with him, but Mozzie explained he'd gotten sick from being on Earth. He needed to go back to his planet for a while. That made sense. They'd be able to protect him from the invisible aliens. Henry couldn't . . . not yet, anyway.

The door opened, and Mozzie walked in. He smiled at Henry and took a seat in a school desk next to Henry. "Mr. Jensen is glad to have you here. Are you okay with that?"

"Yeah, I'm ready to begin my training."

"But it's our secret, right?"

"You can trust me. I won't tell anyone. How long did you live here?"

"Fourteen years. I didn't know my parents. This was my home, and I was very happy. Now it's yours. Mr. Jensen will talk to your mom. You can go with him if you'd like. If she raises any issues, he'll smooth them over."

Henry wasn't worried. His mom could visit him if she wanted to. "How long before I can see Neal again?"

"I'm afraid it will be several years before we can return. Time operates on a different continuum in our world. The earliest may be fourteen of your earth-years."

"That long?"

"I'm afraid so," Mozzie said, looking at him sympathetically.

Doubts began to creep in. Was this all just a fantasy meant to appease him? There was no Green Lantern Corps. Mozzie was just making up a story to make him feel better.

"I know you're having a hard time believing this," Mozzie said.

"You gotta admit, it sounds pretty wacky," Henry admitted.

"It would to me too," he confided. "Here's something to hold onto. Peter and I are from the future."

"Hah!" Henry crossed his arms, his skepticism growing stronger. "Prove it."

"That's what I intend to do," Mozzie said calmly. "Next year a new comic superhero will emerge, Spider-Man."

"Never heard of him."

He beamed and gave him a wink. "That's exactly the point. You will. And when you do, remember what I said. Then you'll know we're telling the truth. There's a character called Doctor Octopus who is obsessed with destroying Spider-Man. He's an evil genius who has some of the characteristics of our foe." Mozzie placed a hand on his shoulder. "Our enemy is very powerful, and you should know we may not make it. But if we do, we'll look for you. If you leave here before we've contacted you, be sure to let Mr. Jensen know where you can be found."

He looked so earnest, Henry desperately wanted to believe him. For the past few days he'd gotten to have a kid brother, and he didn't want to lose Neal. Mozzie was giving him hope that it wouldn't end. Was there really a Doctor Octopus? Were they truly Guardians of the Universe? All he had to do was wait a year and he'd know.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

"Is that where we'll be staying?" a small voice rasped from the back of the car.

Peter turned his head to check on Neal. He was gazing sleepily out the window. When Mozzie returned to the car, Peter joined him on the front seat so Neal could stretch out. He'd dozed off no sooner than they left the shelter and slept fitfully for most of the hour-long drive, his rest broken by coughing fits. The blue discoloration to his skin was even stronger than before.

Levi's retreat was one of a cluster of vacation bungalows grouped along the Taunton River. A few appeared to be occupied and luckily the access road was cleared of snow. The bright sun overhead had taken care of what shovels hadn't removed.

"Our destination is the white cottage at the end," Mozzie explained. "It's the one with the large windows in front. There's a deck in the back overlooking the river where Levi sets up his telescope."

"Zophar and I like to look at the stars," Neal said. "Will he join us here?"

Mozzie shot a glance at Peter. This was not the time to tell the boy Zophar would be dead within a few days.

"I don't think so," Peter hedged. "He wants us to leave for Tirelia as soon as you've recovered."

"And the medicine will make me well?"

"Yes," he said confidently, willing it to be true, "but you won't feel very good for a few hours."

"I don't feel good now," he grumbled. And he didn't look it. His eyes were red-rimmed. His throat sounded raw. El had cautioned against using anything other than the standard dose of children's aspirin on him. The cough drops Henry had bought were of limited benefit.

"Soon you'll be feeling your old self again," Mozzie declared, wheeling into the driveway. "As soon as we get inside, we'll get started. Do you have pajamas?"

"Henry got me some. When I fled, I didn't have time to bring any clothes." While waiting for Mozzie to return to the parking lot, Neal had explained the nightmare situation when he ran away. If it weren't for Henry, Neal likely would have been beyond their help. They were now on slightly firmer ground. Thanks to the masking drug, Azathoth could no longer track his movements for at least a couple of weeks.

Although Neal knew about the Ymar and Azathoth, he didn't appear to know that Zophar was from the planet Merope. Nor did he seem to be aware that Zophar was his father.

Mozzie turned off the ignition. "Levi converted the cottage to natural gas as soon as it was available. We'll have the place warm in no time."

"Don't try to get out of the car," Peter warned Neal. "Let us help." By the way Neal was struggling with his blankets, his strength was fading fast. When Peter opened the car door, he brushed Neal's forehead. The kid was cranking out so many BTUs, he wouldn't feel the need for a fire.

"I'm okay," he insisted, sounding remarkably like the older Neal. And just like his adult self, the youngster was no judge. When he tried to stand upright, Peter had to grab hold of him to keep him from falling.

"My legs fell asleep," he mumbled. "Once I walk around, I'll be better."

Peter didn't argue but guided him into the house, keeping a firm grip on his shoulders. He'd slung Neal's blanket from the car over his shoulders. It would be warmer than anything in the house.

The cottage had two bedrooms and one large main room. In front of the stone fireplace was positioned a comfortable-looking couch with an ottoman of equal length. The chairs were small and portable but had padded seats. Several well-worn floor cushions were scattered on the floor. A record player was on a side cabinet next to a small television. The sun streaming in from the front windows made the living room a cheery place despite the cold.

Peter guided his young charge to the couch and covered him with additional blankets which Mozzie scrounged from the closet. "Once the heat comes on, you can get up."

"I can't just sit here," he whispered, stopping to cough. "I can't sleep. I have nothing to do."

Peter poured out a capful of cough syrup. "Take this and I'll get you something to read."

Neal swallowed it in one gulp while Peter fished in his pocket for the book he'd brought.

"What is it?" Neal asked curiously.

"_Have Space Suit—Will Travel_ by Robert Heinlein. Have you read it?"

"No," he said, his eyes brightening, "but I like science fiction."

"This is my copy. It was one of my favorite books when I was about your age." He'd barely handed it to Neal before he was buried in it. Neal had told him a few months ago how much he'd enjoyed reading it as a boy. Peter hoped this younger Neal would like it just as much even though it'd been written for older kids.

Peter brought in their gear while Mozzie tended to the furnace in the attic. The house was furnished simply. A double bed was in the main bedroom which had a connecting bathroom. The second bedroom looked like it had been merged with another room to form one large sleeping area. There were three twin beds with folding cots and sleeping bags propped along one wall. A linen cabinet held ample towels and sheets. The small kitchen was more than adequate for their needs.

Mozzie came downstairs as Peter was making the bed in the master bedroom. "I thought we'd put Neal in here," Peter said. "There's a door to shut it off so he can rest undisturbed."

When they returned to the living room, Neal was still reading. He looked up at their approach. "Is it time?"

"Yeah, you should go ahead and change to your pajamas. There are towels in the bathroom. Your duffel's next to the nightstand."

Neal took the book with him into the bedroom. His walk was a little wobbly, but he didn't need, or want, assistance. Peter stifled his desire to hover and busied himself putting away supplies in the kitchen. They'd stopped at a grocery store to pick up enough food for a couple of days. Based on what Lavinia said, Neal likely wouldn't feel like eating and Peter shouldn't force the issue. Once he recovered they'd make up for it. There was so much he needed to discuss with Mozzie but that could easily wait till Neal was asleep.

He heard soft footsteps behind him and turned around to see Neal clad in blue flannel pajamas decorated with space aliens. "I'm ready."

"Outstanding PJs!" Mozzie exclaimed. "I should get myself a pair. And they're very appropriate. Soon we'll be going on our own adventure."

They had Neal get in bed and drink a glass of water before taking the drug. Peter noticed he'd placed the book on the nightstand.

Neal eyed the black-colored bottle warily. "Will this taste as good as the other?"

"I'm afraid not, but there won't be much of it." Peter twisted off the cap. The liquid was inky and viscous. There wasn't any fragrance. Couldn't Lavinia have added something to it to make it more appetizing?

Neal didn't hesitate but he made a face when he drank it down. "It's worse than licorice."

"Take some more water," Mozzie urged. "It will help get rid of the taste."

"Would you like us to stay with you?" Peter asked.

"That's okay. I have the book to read."

Peter didn't press. Neal looked so tired, he'd likely be asleep in a few minutes. They left the door ajar so they could check on him without disturbing him.

"Relax," Mozzie advised when they were back in the living room. "By my reckoning, we're ahead of schedule since we didn't expect to find him so quickly. A good night's sleep and Neal will be fine. With any luck, we'll be on our way to Tirelia tomorrow. I think it's time for one of those bottles of wine we bought. I'm sure Levi has a corkscrew somewhere." He went into the kitchen where Peter could hear him rummaging through the drawers.

Was Mozzie right? He made it sound so simple. So far they hadn't detected any issues with the time shift. Peter had no physical symptoms from traveling in the vortex. They'd been careful to bring old coins and bills to not disturb the timeline, but what effect would their actions with Henry cause down the road?

Mozzie handed him a glass of wine. "Let's sit by the back windows and look out on the river."

Peter took a seat beside him. The broad expanse of the Taunton flowed in front of them. The sky acquired hues of gold and coral as the sun sank lower. A large wooden deck would provide excellent stargazing opportunities later in the night. Peter could picture Levi grouped with his students outside, explaining the night sky. "Did we do the right thing with Henry? He didn't even leave a note for his mother."

"Mr. Jensen will visit her. He's dealt with many other cases of neglect." Mozzie paused, his eyes sweeping the vista in front of him. "I've been sending money to the shelter yearly ever since I graduated from college. Now I'll think of the donations as Henry's scholarship fund. That promise I made to get in touch with him I intend to keep, no matter what happens."

It was the first acknowledgment he'd made of the uncertainty of their future. Peter could gripe about misleading the boy, but Mozzie had given him the chance of a better life.

"What did you and Neal talk about while I was making the arrangements?" Mozzie asked.

"Apparently he's been dreaming of us. He recognized our voices. He asked me about El and Satchmo."

"Not Betelgeuse?" Mozzie asked in mock dismay.

Peter chuckled. "He didn't mention your cat. You'll have to quiz him about that. It may be while his conscious self sleeps, the adult emerges, or some other phenomenon could have caused it. I hope we did the right thing in telling him about the transference. It's an advanced concept, hard for anyone—no matter how bright—to understand."

"I don't think we had a choice. We're asking him to go to Tirelia with us. He needs to know why. And Neal is no ordinary boy. His alien heritage and upbringing have resulted in his comprehension being advanced for his age."

"He seemed quite familiar with Tirelia. His grandfather must have told him about his trip. Neal knows the names of rivers and towns."

"Did he mention anything about the armillary sphere?"

Peter nodded. "His grandfather explained armillary spheres were used to model the night sky. Neal knows Andrew obtained it in Tirelia."

Mozzie raised his glass to the sky. "Here's to you, Andrew. You taught your grandson well. We'll do our best by him."

They drank to Andrew, Melina, and Zophar. The voids in Neal's life would need to be replaced by Arkham's Odd Couple. More than ever, Peter wished El had been able to come with them.

* * *

_Notes: I hope you're enjoying Arkham's Odd Couple, the subject of this week's blog post. Protecting Neal has become Mozzie and Peter's joint project. They bring different perspectives and abilities to the effort and their collaboration is not without rough patches, but they're learning to appreciate each other's strengths. Penna's blog topic this week is on a related subject: "Group projects and our characters." _

_Father's Day will be next Sunday. Although Time Crystals takes place in December, its themes are relevant to the holiday. In Caffrey Conversation, Neal celebrated the occasion in _Caffrey Disclosure_ (2004) and in_ _Fireflies at Midnight (2005)_.

_Wishing all of you and your dads a Happy Father's Day!_

_Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation_  
_Chapter Visuals and Music: The Time Crystals board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website_


	5. Road to Tirelia

**Chapter 5: Road to Tirelia**

**Cottage by the Taunton River. Monday, December 18, 1961.**

Neal was already asleep when Peter made his first check. The novel was lying beside him on top of the blanket, and Peter placed it on the nightstand. Neal was sleeping peacefully on his side. He didn't sound congested but the nightlight revealed every inch of his exposed skin was now glacial blue. Peter began to doubt his first theory that lack of oxygen in his blood was causing the effect. The high level of algolnium in his system could be the culprit instead.

Peter quietly retreated, leaving the door cracked open. Mozzie had bought T-bone steaks to cook for their evening meal. For vegetables, they had a can of chili. Mozzie offered to watch over Neal since he routinely stayed up late into the night, but Peter was in no mood for sleep either. While Mozzie reviewed the selections in Levi's record collection, Peter browsed through the collection of astronomy textbooks and science-fiction novels in the bookcase.

One in particular caught his eye—_Time Out of Joint_ by Philip Dick. You couldn't get much more appropriate than that. At the start of the academic year, Peter had been disgruntled at having a dig canceled. To make matters worse, Eleanor scheduled him to give a lecture course. He was convinced she was exacting revenge for the fieldwork he'd been able to conduct the previous year while she was stuck in the lecture hall.

But at the conclusion of his opening lecture he met Neal, and what was supposed to be an ordinary term turned into anything but. Now they were about to embark on fieldwork not just on another planet but in a different universe.

Mozzie didn't find any music he wanted to listen to although he chuckled at a few of the selections. More astronomy humor, perhaps. Peter flopped on the couch and settled in to read while Mozzie retrieved a pair of binoculars from the supply closet and headed outside.

Over the course of the evening, Neal's face began to change color, slowly becoming more flesh-toned. Lavinia hadn't been able to predict how strong the reaction would be, and it looked like for once they'd caught a break. Neal's fever was down. He didn't appear to be bothered by nightmares. That meant Peter could relax too.

The wine Mozzie had served so generously was beginning to have an effect. Peter hadn't slept well for days. He resolved to wait till eleven o'clock before calling Mozzie to keep watch . . .

With a start, Peter sat upright. The book had slid off his lap onto the floor. The sound must have awakened him. He glanced guiltily at his watch, but it had only been forty-five minutes since his last check.

He crept into the bedroom and stopped in shock. The bed was empty. The blankets had been thrown back as if Neal had gotten up in a hurry but he wasn't in the small bathroom. Peter's nerves went into overdrive. Had Azathoth opened up a wormhole and snatched him away? That nightmarish vision of the alien's infernal machine popped once more into his head with Neal—now an innocent child—imprisoned in its hoops.

"Neal? Where are you?" Peter tried not to sound too frantic. "Are you okay?"

No answer.

Peter swiped a hand over his mouth and forced himself not to panic. He turned the overhead light on. There weren't many places a small boy could be. He looked under the bed, but it was empty. He turned to the closet. Henry had mentioned that Neal had slept in his at night. Was the sound of the closet door opening what had awakened him?

The walk-in closet in the bedroom was used to store bedding and office supplies. When Peter looked inside, he didn't see anyone. Before moving out all the boxes, he made another attempt to get a response.

"Are you playing hide-and-seek? You win. Now show me where you hid." Peter listened intently for any sound and finally he heard the soft sound of ragged breathing. "There's nothing to fear," he said in a quieter voice. "It's just you and me, buddy. Wouldn't you be more comfortable in bed?"

A face emerged from behind a storage box in the back. Neal's skin was mottled in muddy red, purple, and blue as if he'd been severely beaten all over his body. "Is Sornoth gone?" he asked, his eyes wide with fear.

Peter was startled at Neal naming the saber-toothed leopard which had attacked him on Merope. Only the adult Neal could know about him. "He was never here. You were just having a nightmare." He crouched at the closet entrance. "You can trust me. If Sornoth were here, I'd be in that closet with you." Peter held out his hand and Neal crawled forward. He looked more confused than anxious.

"Who's Sornoth?"

"Come on out and I'll tell you." He led the boy out of the closet. He continued to shake, likely from a mixture of fear and exhaustion.

"I don't want to go back to bed. Every time I close my eyes, I see ghasts, Mom dying, Gramps . . ."

Peter placed his arms around him and drew him close. The boy clung to him, burying his head in his flannel shirt.

"Would you like to be in the living room with me? It's perfectly safe. I'll make sure those nightmares stay away."

"Yes, please," he mumbled.

There were still glowing embers in the fireplace. Peter brought pillows and blankets from the bed and arranged them on the couch. Neal's fever hadn't risen, and he claimed not to ache. Peter assumed Lavinia's drug, combined with the algolnium in his system, was the cause of his rainbow coloration.

"Who is Sornoth?" Neal repeated once they were settled on the couch. Rather than relaxing on the pillows, he sat bolt upright, looking wide awake. His eyes were fiery blue crystals in the mottled colors of his face.

"Did he appear to you in your dream?"

"No, I just woke up and heard his name in my head."

"He's a leopard we encountered on Merope." If Neal learned about his saber-toothed fangs or what the beast had done to his adult self, his nightmares could be even more intense. And why had he heard the name? Was the adult inside him trying to convey a warning? It was Sornoth who'd infected Neal with ymarite.

Neal drifted closer to him on the couch, and Peter draped an arm around his shoulders. The room was warm but Neal's skin felt cool to the touch. Too cool. Peter reached for another blanket to lay over him.

"Merope is where Zophar's from," Neal said casually.

"When did he tell you that?" Peter said, surprised. Neal must know more about his parentage than Peter realized.

"After Mom died. Zophar and Gramps told me it was important I understand. They told me about Celaeno and Merope . . . about ghasts. You've seen them too, haven't you?"

Peter nodded. That was another subject he didn't intend to discuss in the middle of the night. "Did Zophar tell you about chittaks?"

His eyes widened. "No, what are chittaks?"

"Those silver monkeys you asked me about at Henry's place are called chittaks. They're native to Merope." As Peter described the lush rainforest on the planet with its giant butterflies and dragonflies, Neal's eyes began to close. Before long he was asleep, his head pillowed on Peter's side.

Peter stretched his legs out on the ottoman and relaxed. Did Zophar regret not having told the boy he was his father? Lavinia's cold and forbidding manner had nothing in common with standard concepts of maternal attachment. Was Zophar the same way? Maybe their species didn't project outward displays of affection. But it was impossible for Peter to grasp how they could have managed not to. He and El both considered Neal a member of their family and now, seeing him as a child . . . His thoughts turned to El.

When he woke, the fire was out, but the table lamp was still on. Mozzie was sitting in a chair, writing on a notepad. He must have covered Peter with the wool throw. Neal had sunk lower, his head resting on Peter's leg which was now padded with a pillow thanks to Mozzie. The discoloration appeared to be reduced.

"I think the worst is over," Mozzie whispered. "When I came in, Neal's skin had turned dark violet. An hour later, it began to fade. He was having nightmares?"

Peter nodded. "Of Sornoth, his mother, and grandfather." More than ever Peter appreciated that there was a good side to the amnesia Neal had to suffer. No child should have to endure those horrific scenes. Neal had a peaceful expression on his face. No ghasts were troubling his dreams now. He was grasping his amulet with one hand.

"Go back to sleep," Mozzie said softly. "I'll keep watch."

"You need your rest, too. Tomorrow brings new challenges."

"I'll sleep with my eyes open."

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

When Peter next awoke, sunlight was streaming in through the windows. Neal was still asleep next to him. Mozzie was snoring softly, slouched in an armchair. He'd requisitioned two floor cushions to use as an ottoman.

Neal's cheeks were flushed, but otherwise his coloring was normal. When Peter felt Neal's forehead, it appeared to be the same temperature as his. The redness was simply caused by sleep.

He didn't want to disturb Neal but his bladder demanded attention. Peter cautiously shifted his leg out from under Neal while supporting the pillow. It was already nine o'clock. Depending on how Neal felt, they might be able to leave for Tirelia later in the day. Neal's mention of Sornoth had imparted a heightened sense of urgency.

While taking a quick shower, Peter reviewed the preparations they'd made. Their clothes were ready. All extra supplies would stay in the cottage. Once they returned from Tirelia, they'd wait for Gideon at the cottage. There'd be ample time to straighten up then. He snorted aloud for even contemplating what their activities would be after Tirelia. One step at a time.

He considered his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Why should he bother to shave? The man Neal had seen in his vision of Azathoth's fortress had a beard. Somehow he didn't think they had safety razors on Tirelia.

When he came out of the shower, he was startled to hear music blaring from the front room. When he heard what it was, he broke into a laugh. A month ago, Neal and Mozzie had demonstrated the Cosmic Glide, a dance they'd made up when Neal was a child. Mozzie must be teaching it to Neal, and he was using the original tune—"Purple People Eater."

Sure enough, Mozzie was leading Neal in gyrations. The kid was adorable in his space alien pajamas. If only Peter could have gotten a matching set for Mozzie.

Peter broke into the dance as he entered the room, snapping his fingers in tune to the music. "I approve of the morning calisthenics."

Mozzie beamed his appreciation without stopping. "Neal told me he felt great. I challenged him to a demonstration."

"I bet I can outlast you both," Neal shouted, jumping onto the couch to continue the dance.

Peter wished he could let El and Lavinia know how well the drug had worked. Neal appeared every inch a healthy, energetic eight-year-old, which could present a different set of challenges. But Peter was happy to enjoy the moment. "I'd easily trounce you, but someone has to start the percolator."

Neal immediately jumped down. "You bought coffee?" he asked, his eyes big as saucers.

"Yes, and you better drink up. Tirelia might not have any."

"Are we going there today?" Neal couldn't have looked happier if Peter had mentioned Disneyland, despite the grim prospect of his supply of java being cut off.

"Right after breakfast."

Mozzie gave Peter a sharp look but didn't argue. The need for speed wasn't simply because of the limited efficacy of Neal's medications. How long Mozzie would be able to maintain cohesion was an open question.

"No need to get dressed," Peter added. "You can eat in your PJs. We have new clothes for you to wear for the trip."

Breakfast wasn't Peter's standard fare. No cereal, no eggs. Instead, they'd bought sliced ham, cheese and rolls as well as a small container of milk for Neal. There was just enough food for breakfast and to make sandwiches. It could be a while before they'd have money to buy anything in Tirelia and Peter didn't fancy living off berries.

"Did Zophar tell you anything about Hlanith?" Mozzie asked.

Neal nodded, his mouth full of ham and cheese. His appetite had returned with a vengeance along with his health. "It's at the mouth of the Oukianos River on the Cerenerian Sea." He had no difficulty in pronouncing the strange words, but Peter insisted on him writing them down for him. "Sailors from all over the world stop there. To reach Azathoth's stronghold, we'll need to wait for a ship sailing to Inquanok. That's where we're going, right?"

His innocent nonchalance had Peter at a loss for words, but not Mozzie.

"Why do think we're going to Azathoth's home?" Mozzie asked. His tone was as calm as if he were asking Neal to solve a math question.

"That's where Gramps found the armillary sphere. Azathoth must have taken it back."

It was long past time for a reality check. "Have you ever seen a picture of Azathoth?" Peter asked.

Neal shook his head.

Peter pulled out a manila folder from his duffel bag. "This is a copy of a drawing you made of Azathoth in our timeline."

Neal stared at the terrifying image of a creature with long spindly arms, legs, and tails. They looked like tentacles, lashing out in all directions. The body appeared to be completely encased in a skin-fitting polymer. Azathoth was standing by a huge metal sphere composed of layers upon layers of hoops. "I drew this?" he whispered.

Peter nodded, hating to scare the boy but he needed to understand the danger they'd be confronting. "One of the Meropians on our team believes you had a vision of Azathoth in his fortress."

"Do you know what the machine's used for?"

"We suspect it may create wormholes," Mozzie explained. "Have you ever been in a wormhole?"

"No." Neal lifted the sheet to see the drawing underneath. "Who's this man?"

"You saw him talk with Azathoth. He may be one of his agents," Peter said. "We don't know his name. This is a warning that Azathoth's spies could be scattered among the people we'll meet. We'll have to be careful to not let anyone know who we are or what we intend to do."

Neal nodded. "I understand."

Hell of a burden to place on a child, but somehow Neal did appear to understand. His face was far too serious to derive any other meaning. The child knew ghasts first hand. He'd survived when the other members of his family had died. Perhaps the adult Neal inside him was also a factor.

"We learned on Merope that your amulet gives you no protection against ghasts when you're off-world," Peter warned. "Ghasts dwell in the underworld on Tirelia. Mozzie and I will do everything in our power to keep you safe."

He smiled at them. "And I'll do the same for you. The amulet may not help, but I have this." He pulled out a metal keyring from his pajama pocket and handed it to Peter. "Henry gave me this."

Mozzie leaned over to look at it. "A truly magnificent dragon!"

"He said it will bring good luck," Neal confided.

"I'm sure he's right," Peter said. Neal hadn't mentioned Henry since they arrived at the cottage. He'd seemingly accepted the impossibility of Henry joining them. Was that because he'd grown up knowing he was different? Neal had spent his entire life in hiding. From what he'd told Peter, he hadn't been allowed to play with other kids. He'd been forced to accept a reality no kid should have to.

As soon as they finished breakfast, Peter got out their new clothes. They had trousers and shirts of a heavy homespun fabric with wool jackets and tall leather boots. Pagna had provided heavy socks to wear with them. Neal's boots were a little large, but the extra socks he'd need to wear could provide additional warmth. Supposedly Hlanith had a moderate climate, but conditions were bound to be much colder in the mountains to the north.

They were taking keys for the car and the house but would leave everything else behind.

"Can't I take the book?" Neal pleaded. "I haven't finished reading it."

"It will be here waiting for you," Peter said. Maybe it had been a bad idea to bring it. This was exactly the sort of alien item they weren't supposed to bring to another world.

Neal didn't argue with him, but thunderclouds were hanging over his head.

Mozzie pulled Peter aside. "What harm can one book do? I'll take charge of it and keep it safe."

Crisis resolved, they were off for Tirelia.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal sat in the front with Mozzie for the drive to Freemont Forest while Peter rode in the back. The grown-ups hoped he'd be able to indicate the route. It hadn't been that long—only a little over a month—since he'd visited the forest with Gramps and Zophar on the way to Providence. They hadn't initially planned to stop, but the woods looked so inviting, Neal persuaded them to pull over.

Mozzie turned his head to look at him. "Did you feel any spirits when you drove into the park?"

"What do you mean?" Neal asked.

"The forest is part of the Bridgewater Triangle. Some say it's haunted."

"Don't pay any attention to him," Peter urged.

"You shouldn't dismiss the possibility," Mozzie retorted. "Something compelled Neal to stop. We know there's a wormhole to Tirelia here. Who knows what leaked through? Neal, have you ever heard of Pukwudgies?"

"No, what are they?"

"Trolls who live in the forest. They're shorter than you, can make themselves invisible, and are capable of great mischief. They use bows and arrows or attack with spears—"

"Mozzie, enough!" Peter roared. "You'll scare the boy."

Neal grinned. Was he deliberately trying to provoke Peter? Mozzie said Peter sounded like a bear when he was mad, and he was right.

Mozzie winked at him. "You have to agree they sound like something which might be sent by Azathoth. They're invisible to most humans just like ghasts are."

"Then we'll be able to see them too," Peter pointed out.

"Pukwudgies could be from Tirelia," Neal suggested.

Peter shook his head. "I'm sure Zophar would have said something if they existed."

"Not necessarily," Mozzie argued. "Zophar might have thought Neal was too young."

Neal nodded. "He used to hide things a lot." He'd managed to overhear much more than Zophar ever explained to him by eavesdropping when the others thought he was asleep. He'd only been caught once and Zophar hadn't been mad. He'd said the ability to sneak was a useful skill.

"How did you happen on the cave?" Peter asked.

Should he tell them? They might think he was making it up. But they already knew about Merope and Celaeno. They didn't question his knowledge about Tirelia. Neal decided to risk it. "I heard a voice in my head. It was calling to me. It's the first time something like that ever happened. Then I saw a creature hovering in the air at the entrance to a trail. It looked like a snake but had wings and feathers." He heard Peter smother a curse and rushed to add, "It wasn't scary. It was beautiful. It glittered with all the colors of the rainbow. Zophar told me it was a messenger from Celaeno and we should follow it. The snake flew along the path, guiding us to the cave. It disappeared once I found the opening."

"You'll see that snake again when you're older," Mozzie said. "Less than a month ago, it visited you in Europe and told you of the need to retrieve the armillary sphere."

Neal was filled with curiosity to know more about what he'd be like in the future. It was reassuring to know the future was so bright. He had close friends. Whatever happened now, he didn't have to worry. It was all going to work out.

"I wonder . . ." Mozzie stared off in space.

"Eyes on the road!" Peter barked as they nearly swerved into a ditch. "Save your musings for later!"

"What if the serpent was sent to Neal after he entered the wormhole in Lyon?" Mozzie asked, reducing his speed a little.

Peter was quiet for a moment. "We were in Lyon roughly two weeks ago in our timeline which makes it almost fourteen years in the future."

Mozzie shrugged. "The Celaenians are masters of wormholes which can transport us through both space and time. We traveled back in time. The winged messenger could have done the same."

"Zophar told me wormholes are like magical rivers," Neal said. "I didn't know what he meant." Now he did. They'd find the armillary sphere then he'd be able to travel back on the river with Peter and Mozzie. Zophar could travel to the future as well. Neal hoped to persuade them to take Henry, too. They could meet Peter's wife, start a new life together.

"Could anyone else see the serpent?" Peter asked.

"Zophar couldn't but Gramps did. Zophar said it was because we have a little of Celaeno inside us."

"Here's the entrance to the park," Mozzie said. "Let's see if your winged friend is still around."

Neal scanned the trails eagerly as he directed Mozzie along the road. He could see the map laid out in his head. "We cross Rattlesnake Brook to Upper Ledge Road then onto Cedar Swamp Road."

"Not so fast," Mozzie complained. "Wait till I'm on one road before telling me about the next one."

"We need to hurry," Neal insisted.

"Why do you say that?"

"It's just a feeling I have," he said, frustrated that he couldn't explain why. "It's important."

"Don't worry," Peter reassured. "We'll get there in plenty of time."

"There's a famous ledge here," Mozzie said.

"I know. We stopped to see it, but the cave isn't there. It's to the north." They finally arrived at the parking lot. They weren't the only ones visiting the park. Neal had already spotted hikers in the woods. Peter patted his pockets, probably checking that he had everything, and Neal copied him. He had his dragon. Mozzie was carrying his book for him. He didn't need anything else. He could see a faint rainbow shimmer along the path. Had the serpent left it? Maybe the creature was still there.

The others couldn't see the shimmer but they didn't question him. It took an hour to hike to the rocky hillside, but Neal wasn't tired. He was bursting with excitement to go to Tirelia.

When they got to the spot, Peter felt along the rocks. "Are you sure this is where the cave is? I can't feel anything."

"It's right here. You just can't see it." Neal pressed his hand over the opening and felt the rush of warm air. He turned to the others. "You'll need to hold my hands to enter."

Just like before with Zophar and Gramps, they walked inside together.

As Neal's eyes adjusted to the dim light, he could see ferns growing in the cave. The moist air smelled of damp earth and mushrooms. There was a faint drip of water. Peter and Mozzie were gazing around with wonder but Neal pressed them forward. He could see the light ahead and caught glimpses of trees through the opening. Finally, he'd be able to visit the world beyond.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Peter emerged into the dappled sunlight of a wooded glen. Tall trees resembling firs and beeches surrounded him. Thick moss carpeted the ground. The _tat-tat-tat_ of a woodpecker echoed somewhere nearby.

"Was that a wormhole?" Mozzie asked, looking dazed.

"It had to be, but it was unlike any I've been in." They'd simply strolled through the entrance. Gideon had said the wormhole had been created by Celaenians. They were getting top marks in his book. Neal was already racing ahead.

"Wait for us!" Peter called out, probably louder than he should have. They were in the land of the Ymar. It was daylight and ghasts wouldn't be about, but Azathoth undoubtedly had many other creatures under his command.

The dangers ahead were plainly not registering with Neal, whose face was flushed with excitement. "Why? The woods thin out up ahead. We'll get a better view from there."

"Don't you think it would be smart to mark the entrance to the cave first? We'll need to find this spot when we're ready to leave."

"It will be easy to find," he insisted. "I'll be able to see the shimmer."

Peter studied the solid rock face. There was no hint of an entrance.

"I'm not seeing anything," Mozzie muttered. "Are you?"

Peter shook his head. "Is it still shimmering?" he called out to Neal.

When the boy ran back, his steps seemed unusually bouncy. Peter could feel the effect too. Gravity had a slightly weaker pull than on Earth.

"The entrance is here." Neal placed his hand on the rock face, and Peter saw it disappear into the rock. "You still can't see it?"

"No, Mozzie said, frowning, "but we couldn't see the opening in Freemont Forest either. We're dependent on you." He stooped down to pick up a rock. "Peter's right. We should place a marker in case the shimmer disappears."

"We'll make a cairn," Peter suggested. When Neal looked puzzled, he added, "That's a stack of stones. There are plenty of rocks around to build one." He reached inside his shirt for the compass. If the needle spun freely, there'd be no need for a cairn. They'd have to return to Providence.

"How does that work?" Neal asked, eying the device curiously.

"It indicates where the armillary sphere is," Peter explained, taking a breath when the needle pointed to the northwest.

Mozzie exchanged a slow nod with him. Whatever timeline Tirelia was in, the armillary sphere was here. They were one step closer to success.

The cairn was quickly completed. Peter figured a two-foot height would be adequate. Even if animals disturbed it, there should still be enough of the shape to be recognizable.

When they'd exited the cave, the sun had been fairly low in the sky. It had risen higher during their work. Peter guessed it was midmorning. As Neal had already discovered, the edge of the woods was not distant.

They hiked through the undergrowth to emerge upon a meadow. A two-lane road bordered by a low stone wall wove through a hillside dotted with small, tidy farms. Sheep grazed in pastures. The stone houses looked similar to those in England in the sixteenth or seventeenth century. Lavinia had mentioned that Tirelians had adopted many aspects of English culture during that period. It was a time when the Starry Wisdom cult was active in England and contacts were frequent.

In the distance, Peter could see the peaked gables of Hlanith. The seaport clung to the very edge of the water. Even from this distance, the tall masts of sailing vessels were visible.

They sprinted across the field and onto the road, setting a lively pace. Peter's hunch about gravity was right. Their strides were longer, their steps springier. Mozzie took the opportunity to question Neal about how he'd been brought up. They learned that he'd been taught at home. Neal's knowledge of math, history, literature, and science seemed more advanced than any other eight-year-old Peter had met. His grandfather and mother had tutored him. Peter gathered that they had no outside employment so they focused their attention on him. The previous year had been particularly intense with long hours of studies. It was if the adults sensed a crisis loomed ahead and they tried to cram as much knowledge as possible into Neal's head. But the long hours came at a cost. As far as Peter could tell, Henry was the first friend Neal had who was close to his own age.

Near the outskirts of town, they were joined by other wayfarers on the road. Some passed them in ox carts. The people appeared friendly and gave them a chance to practice their speech. Thanks to the amulets they understood each other with no difficulty. To Peter's ear, the locals spoke with a slight British accent.

Many of them were carrying baskets or trundled carts of goods. A ship was in port from lands to the south, and everyone was coming to trade.

Once others joined them on the road, Peter kept a tight grasp on Neal's hand. The image of the man in Azathoth's fortress was constantly at the back of his mind. Some of his anxiety must have passed onto Neal, as he'd become less talkative when the road became more crowded.

The chatter of locals provided useful details. Apparently, bazaars were clustered near the docks. Bartering techniques were a favorite topic. Mozzie paid particularly close attention. He'd already offered to handle negotiations for them, claiming to be an expert haggler.

They passed a few roadside shrines on the way to town with some of the wayfarers stopping to pray. Gods were often mentioned as the locals expressed hope for their blessings on their trades. Few spoke actual names so it was impossible to tell precisely who they were referring to. Peter was reminded of Ancient Rome with its panoply of gods and demigods. The Romans had adopted gods from many different cultures. Perhaps the Tirelians had as well. The archaeologist in him yearned to learn more about their politics and culture.

But as they passed through the city gate onto the cobblestone streets of Hlanith, those studies were put on hold. Neal stared at the multitude of people around him, his eyes grown enormous. Mozzie kept a firm grip on Neal's other hand. His words were light as he speculated about the backgrounds of the people they saw, but he was scanning everyone warily.

The streets were narrow and overhung with crowded gabled buildings. Granite was the predominant building material. Many of the gables were carved in ornate and sometimes scarily grotesque designs. Peter hoped they were only similar to gargoyles and didn't have a more sinister meaning. The townspeople tender to be a few inches taller than him. In comparison, Neal seemed even smaller and more vulnerable. Peter was glad they'd arrived in broad daylight. By night the streets of Hlanith would be particularly forbidding.

They had no need to ask for directions since most everyone was heading for the docks. As they approached the wharf, the atmosphere became less oppressive. There were fewer tall buildings. The sea was a sparkling slate-blue. A galleon was docked at the wharf. Appearing to be made of oak, the exterior was elaborately carved with a winged creature for a figurehead. The ship resembled a seventeenth-century Spanish galleon. Soon, a similar vessel could take them to Inquanok.

* * *

_Notes: The planet Tirelia is modeled on Lovecraft's description of Dreamlands in Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath. Lovecraft provided rich descriptions of the cities and countryside which have served as an inspiration for countless writers and dreamers. I have a map of the Dreamlands on my Pinterest board which can also serve as a map of Tirelia. The planet is the subject of this week's blog post: "Worldbuilding: Tirelia."_

_Penna's blog topic this week is a thought-provoking essay on the "Dichotomies in our stories."_

_Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation_  
_Chapter Visuals and Music: The Time Crystals board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website_


	6. Passage to Inquanok

**Chapter 6: Passage to Inquanok  
**

**Day 1 on the Planet Tirelia. **

The bazaars of Hlanith were like nothing Neal had ever dreamed or read about. He had to constantly remind himself to close his mouth as he saw one dazzling sight after another. Colorful silks, spices, and brilliantly colored stones shared space with fruits, incense, books, and trading goods. The shops on the neighboring streets had gaudily painted signs hung from rods. Everywhere they were surrounded by merchants and shoppers. Neal tried to fix the images in his mind so he could describe the markets to Henry.

Peter passed Mozzie a leather pouch. The large irregular pearls were supposedly highly valued. They went from vendor to vendor where Mozzie haggled on a price. Soon he'd exchanged several pearls for gold coins called florins and silver shillings of lesser value. Peter was keeping a tight grip on Neal the entire time. He didn't have any kids, so Neal was cutting him some slack, but still, Peter didn't need to treat him like a toddler.

Their next stop was to speak with a port agent about passage to Inquanok. The man told them that the galleon in port had arrived from the island of Oriab in the Southern Sea. In two days' time, it was scheduled to leave for Inquanok. Mozzie booked passage for the three of them. Since the galleon mainly carried goods, there wasn't much room for passengers, but they were able to reserve a cabin they could share.

They'd need to find a place to stay in town for two nights, but they'd passed plenty of taverns which advertised rooms. Peter said they'd find a place once they finished their top priority—shopping. Extra clothes, knapsacks, and a map were all high on their list.

The market area was divided by specialty with the food and spice stalls the most popular. The clothing and leather vendors were in a separate area. As they walked through stalls of fresh produce, Neal suddenly stopped as a chill swept over him. It was like he'd been shut in a freezer. Panicked, he clutched onto Peter's arm with both hands.

When he saw the hooded figures, he knew why. Frantic for a place to hide, he ducked behind a stack of crates, dragging Peter with him. Mozzie followed his lead.

"What's wrong?" Peter murmured in an urgent whisper, crouching beside him.

"Do you sense ghasts?" Mozzie asked.

Neal shook his head. "Those men in the black robes with the hoods. Do you see the fog that surrounds them?"

Peter looked at them, bewildered. Neal flattened himself against a crate, ice spreading into his lungs. Then just as quickly as it had started, the cold dissipated. As the figures moved away, he could feel the welcome warmth of the Tirelian sun.

"What's going on here?" a merchant demanded suspiciously.

"My son isn't well," Peter said quickly. "He's been sick and hasn't fully recovered."

"Well, that's all right, then. A fellow can't be too careful. Lots of pickpockets around."

"Forgive our ignorance but we're newly arrived to this region," Mozzie said. "Could you tell us about those two monks who passed us?"

"If you know what's good for you, you'll steer clear of them." The merchant turned to watch them, a scowl forming on his face. "They're followers of the Outer Gods. I don't have any truck with them. Bunch of demon-worshipers, if you ask me. Their temple is to the west of here. They claim to be disciples of the Priest Not To Be Described."

"The Priest in the Yellow Silk Mask?" Peter asked, looking dismayed.

"Aye, that's another name for him."

When the merchant left to talk with a customer, Neal asked, "That's the priest who dwells in the monastery of Leng, isn't he?"

"How do you know about him?" Peter asked.

"Zophar described him to me. I know he's Azathoth's lieutenant," Neal said lowering his voice still further. "Those monks . . . I felt like I was embedded in ice when they were close to us."

"They may have been corrupted by the Ymar," Peter said, "or they're some species we're unfamiliar with. We need to find a secure place for you to hide until the ship leaves. I don't want to rely exclusively on the medicine we gave you to mask your presence."

"They didn't show any indication of sensing Neal," Mozzie said, "but Azathoth's spies could be watching the ports. He may suspect we'll try to recover the armillary sphere. We should keep as low a profile as possible. For Peter and me, that's not difficult, but there aren't many other children around. Stay here while I reconnoiter."

From his position near the crates, Neal craned his neck to see everything he could. Once they found lodgings, Peter probably wouldn't let him go anywhere. Not that he minded. Peter had called him his son. For a while Neal could pretend he had a father.

Mozzie returned quickly with an update. He'd spotted the monks heading to the far corner of the bazaar where spices were traded. "We should be safe for now. I'll go find us a place to stay while you shop for the rest of our supplies."

Neal was surprised that Mozzie gave Peter all the extra pearls and kept only a few coins for himself. He'd muttered something to Peter about "just in case." The merchant had mentioned pickpockets and that was probably all it was, but there was something in the nod Peter gave him. Concern? Sadness? Was he worried Mozzie would get attacked?

Neal tugged at Mozzie's sleeve. "Would you like to carry my dragon? It will bring you good luck."

Mozzie broke into a smile. "You better keep that. It will guarantee you're getting the best prices." He tousled Neal's hair and gave a big wink. "There. That will bring me all the good luck I need. I'll see you soon. I'll meet you at the clothing stalls." With a wave, he disappeared into the crowd. He didn't seem overly concerned, so Neal decided he didn't need to be either.

He and Peter took off for the leather merchants. Peter was most pleased by the backpacks they found. They were made of a combination of fabric and leather which the vendor swore was waterproof. They came in various sizes with some small enough for Neal. Peter purchased three on the spot. Mozzie probably would have bargained for longer as the merchant appeared quite happy with the price. But Peter could have handled it correctly since the vendor tossed in pouches for only a few extra shillings.

On their way to the clothing market, Neal spotted a man selling paper and colored pencils. "I'll finish the novel we brought in a few hours. I'm going to need something else to do," he wheedled. "I could make drawings of Tirelia."

Neal thought he'd have a tough time convincing him, but Peter bought him a sketchbook and a set of colored pencils without argument. "I already know about your artistic ability. Zophar saved some of your drawings. Do you remember your dreams about Egypt?"

Neal nodded. "Gramps and I both had them." He stopped to swallow. The dreams had started not long after his mom was killed. He remembered Zophar had collected his drawings.

Peter didn't comment further about them but steered him to another section of the bazaar and Neal's sadness soon passed as they bought additional items. They filled their backpacks with small knives in sheaves, whetstones, extra socks and clothing. Peter asked a couple of friendly vendors about Inquanok. The woman who sold them socks advised them to wait for its market to stock up on winter gear. It felt like summer in Hlanith, but she said in the mountains they'd need warmer clothes.

Neal didn't see the monks again. By the time Mozzie returned, Peter was yelling at him to slow down.

"Our new quarters await," Mozzie said with a broad smile. "I've found the perfect solution. Rooms over a tavern. We'll be able to take our meals there too. Have you finished shopping?"

Before Neal could plead to stay longer, Peter jumped in. "Oh yeah, we're done here." He handed Mozzie his backpack. "Any sign of the monks?"

"Not the way I came. Follow me."

Mozzie led them behind the clothing stalls to a narrow lane. They then crisscrossed several streets. Neal wanted to go slow so he could take in every detail but they hustled him along till they reached their new home. It looked like a pub from the outside. A swinging sign hanging from the second floor depicted a grinning black-and-white cat curled around a mug of beer. "Crescent Moon" was written in bold letters at the top.

Peter didn't appear to like what he saw. "Are you sure this is safe?"

"Trust me, no one will think to look for us here," Mozzie assured him.

He opened the door, and Neal darted inside before Peter had a chance to voice any more objections.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim interior. A woman with blond curly hair strode forward to greet them. She looked to be about Mozzie's age with a face heavily painted with makeup.

"So these are your friends! What fine-looking men you are! Welcome to the Crescent Moon. I'm Tressilla, but everyone calls me Tress." She stepped up to Peter and felt his upper arm. "Oh, you're a strong one! The girls will like that."

Peter didn't look very happy at the thought, but Tress didn't give him time to reply. "Your room's ready," she added, giving him a big wink. "And anything else you'd fancy."

Tress wore a long skirt striped in shades of blue with an apron over it. Her white blouse was cinched in by a tight corset, making her chest look like it might explode out of it.

All the women in the tavern were having the same problem. As Neal took in the scene, his mouth dropped at the sight of a couple in the corner.

Before he could ask about what they were doing, Peter slapped his hand over his eyes.

"Why'd you do that?" Neal protested, struggling to pry Peter's hand off. "I can't see!"

"Exactly," Peter said grimly. He spun Neal around to face a wall before removing his hand. "Mozzie, a word please." His voice came out a low rumble. "Why did you bring us to a brothel?"

"It's the ideal solution!" Mozzie exclaimed happily, seemingly undisturbed by Peter's growls. "No one would think to look for a small boy here. We're in the safest place imaginable. I checked the room. It's clean and comfortable. There's even indoor plumbing!"

Eventually Peter relented and allowed Tress to take them upstairs. The room was small but had three beds. She explained that she rented rooms to sailors and to folks who came for the market. Mozzie evidently had told her about Neal's loss for she gave him a big hug which nearly smothered him.

Neal waited to ask his questions till Tress left. He didn't want her to be offended by his ignorance. "What's a brothel?"

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

"Mozzie, you tell him," Peter said. He was the one who picked the place. Let him explain the birds and the bees to a curious eight-year-old.

"It's a place where adults pay money to other adults to make them feel good," Mozzie dismissed airily.

"Does Henry's mom run a brothel?" Neal asked.

Peter looked at him, startled. The boy understood more than he realized. "I don't think so, but she may work in one. Don't you want to show Mozzie our purchases?" Anything to change the subject.

The furniture in the room was simple but well-constructed. They appeared to be made out of the Tirelian equivalent of oak. Carpentry and building skills in Hlanith were surprisingly advanced. So much of what he'd seen reminded Peter of the seventeenth century, yet their technology was much further along. There were gas wall lamps operated by switches. The casement windows were ornamented with bullseye panes tinged green and overlooked the street. The plumbing in the bathroom was roughly the equivalent of standards in the early twentieth century.

As soon as Peter pronounced himself satisfied, Mozzie took off again, muttering about wanting to shop while the stores were still open. Neal pleaded to go along but Peter was firm in his opposition. He couldn't fault Neal for wanting to explore—he would have loved to, as well— but those monks had been a warning.

By now, Azathoth surely realized he wasn't able to track Neal's movements. Peter considered it unlikely that he'd believe a small boy would come to Tirelia on his own and even more remote that he'd try to steal the armillary sphere, but they had no idea what powers Azathoth possessed. Could the monks detect they were not of this world? Peter simply couldn't risk it. But keeping Neal entertained till they set sail would be an issue. How many sketchpads would he go through?

And that wasn't the only problem. Neal's ears were too sharp by half. Mozzie and Peter had done their best to keep him from hearing their discussion in the market, but by the worried look he gave Mozzie, they may not have been successful. Lavinia's warning about Mozzie being yanked back to Arkham weighed heavily on them. All their valuables needed to stay with Peter, with Mozzie only keeping a limited supply of coins for himself. Someone needed to stay with Neal at all times, and that had to be Peter.

He didn't want to think about what Neal would be like if Mozzie disappeared on them. The boy had already lost his mother and grandfather. His quick attachment to Henry was driven by loneliness. Now he'd latched onto him and Mozzie as his new surrogate family. He chattered about what Zophar would say when he met them, and Peter couldn't bear to tell him that Zophar would be dead in a few days.

Mozzie came through with a partial solution for entertainment. He'd spotted a bookstore when he was searching for lodgings and returned to their room with two treasures—a map and a book on Tirelia. The latter was entitled _An Abbreviated History to our Fair Home_ and was written by Ignalitis Bremsworthy. Peter was determined to have both resources memorized by the time they set sail.

Tress endeared herself to Peter when she brought up a delicious stew with large chunks of crusty bread for their dinner. The food was accompanied by large tankards of mead for him and Mozzie and a tankard of cider for the "young master" as she referred to Neal. After one taste of the excellent brew, Peter's outlook became much rosier.

Everything about their lives in Arkham was fascinating to the boy. Over dinner, he begged for details about his grown-up self in Arkham. After some initial hesitation, Peter supplied them, touching upon the university, his gift for languages, and his life with June.

What he didn't disclose was that, assuming all went well, when they returned to Providence, Neal would only have a few days before his memory would be wiped clean. The childhood he'd spend in foster care was not a happy one. Henry's life in the home would likely be much better than the bullying Neal had been forced to endure.

Peter wished the timeline could be changed so Neal's future wouldn't be so bleak, but neither he nor Mozzie had been able to come up with a solution. The events had already occurred. To change them now could affect the present in potentially disastrous ways.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

That evening, Neal learned that Peter could study for hours without taking a break. Neal would much rather have been with Mozzie who was in the tavern, playing darts and hearing stories.

He had _Have Space Suit—Will Travel _to read, but why read about someone else's adventures when he could be having his own? Here he was on an alien planet with no need for a space suit, and he was stuck in a room. It was a definite letdown. After much pleading, Peter had relented to explain the purposes of the instruments he wore around his neck, but he was unable to explain how they worked. Neal was particularly fascinated by the language amulet. How come he didn't need one? All he got were sputters in response.

But Neal quickly learned something else. Peter didn't respond well to constant questions.

Fortunately, Mozzie came upstairs to make regular reports, bringing more beer and cider with him. Later on, Neal discovered he wasn't the only one with restrictions. Mozzie wanted to go outside to study the stars but Peter advised against it. Tirelia was the ghasts' home planet. Although they'd yet to see any, at night it was too risky to be out and about. Hlanith and Providence had that in common.

Once the sun came up though, ghasts were no longer a threat. Mozzie left immediately after breakfast to explore the town. He'd already been gone for hours. Peter was sitting in a chair by the window, continuing to study the book Mozzie had bought about Tirelia. He'd occasionally stop to take notes.

Peter was letting him work with the map of Tirelia. Neal was making a drawing of it. It reminded him of the maps he'd made for Mom. They used to sketch together. Whenever he drew, it made him feel closer to her.

Their first map had been from _My Father's Dragon_. After drawing the original, they'd made up their own adventures, using the animals illustrated in the book. From there, he'd graduated to _The Hobbit_. Neal knew every region by heart. Although they hadn't been able to explore much of their own world, they didn't mind. They had a galaxy of other worlds to dream about. Gramps sometimes joined in, telling them about the library on Celaeno and all the marvelous books it contained.

He hoped Mom and Gramps were now on another world, having new adventures. His eyes blurred as he thought about them. Thinking about Henry helped a little. When Neal got back, he'd be able to tell him about Tirelia.

He was relieved Peter didn't ask much about his family. He didn't want Peter to think he was unhappy. What would it be like to be a grown-up? Would he be as tall as Peter? Henry would be an adult too, although Neal was fuzzy on the details of how different timelines worked. Mozzie needed to explain it to him once more.

The door opened and Mozzie walked in, carrying a platter of sweet rolls. Tress had given him a jug of coffee to bring upstairs. Despite Peter's caution, coffee was available in abundance, and no one ever scolded him for wanting to drink it.

Mozzie was more serious than usual. Peter picked up on it right away. Their expressions reminded Neal of what Zophar and Gramps looked like when they didn't want him to hear their conversation. But this time he wasn't excluded.

Mozzie asked to see the drawings his adult self had made of Azathoth's fortress.

"I think I saw the man in the drawing," Mozzie said. "The one who apparently works for Azathoth."

Neal studied the image once more. The man had a beard and long shaggy hair streaked with gray. He wore clothes similar to theirs and looked human.

"I hiked to Azathoth's temple," Mozzie said. "It's in an isolated area of the town. The monks were working in the garden along the side of the building when this fellow approached. I wasn't close enough to hear what they were talking about, but they spent several minutes in conversation."

Peter was silent for a moment, taking a breath. "Azathoth may have given orders for the port to be watched. We'll need to be careful when we board the ship."

"I'll scout the area first," Mozzie promised. "No one's going to stop us from taking sail tomorrow!"

"What does the temple look like?" Neal asked.

"It's not much bigger than this inn. The architecture resembles something out of ancient Egypt, only in granite. It's made from massive stone slabs which are slanted inward. I didn't see any windows."

Peter was listening intently. "Neal, could I borrow your sketchpad?"

When Neal gave it to him, he leafed through the pages till he found a fresh sheet. Picking up the pen, he started to draw with rapid strokes. Neal watched, fascinated. The building resembled something Gramps had shown him. "That looks like an Egyptian pylon!" he said, excited.

Peter smiled at him. "That's exactly what I was drawing."

"And it resembles what I saw," Mozzie said.

"I've wondered about the connection to ancient Egypt ever since I heard the description of the monastery at Leng," Peter said. "It also shows an Egyptian influence. We know the cult was active then. It makes me wonder how much the Ymar impacted their culture. For instance, Anubis, the jackal-headed god of the underworld. Was he derived from a ghast?"

Neal knew about Anubis. Gramps had explained all the Egyptian gods to him but he'd never mentioned the connection. Was he shielding him? Not Peter. He must be preparing him to return to 1975. That's why he was letting him drink coffee.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

On the third day in Tirelia, they said farewell to Tress. She hugged them all, particularly Neal. She urged them to return, and Neal promised they would. Peter hoped they'd be able to stop on their return trip. Among the ten thousand things that could go wrong, one of them was Neal being left alone to fend for himself in an alien world. It provided a small reassurance that Neal had made another friend.

Mozzie had scouted their route in advance. There was no sign of Azathoth's agent or the monks to trouble their departure. They boarded the galleon under crystal-blue skies. After being cooped up in the inn, the fresh salt air revived Peter's spirits. As expected, there were few fellow passengers but the captain and crew were a friendly lot.

Their tiny cabin was simple with hammocks hung from the ceiling. The cramped size didn't bother them since they intended to spend all their time on the deck. Neal laid his sketchbook aside in favor of exploring the galleon with a friendly cabin boy. Peter saw no harm to it. There were no monks on board. Ghasts couldn't invade while they were on the open water. Besides, how he could hold a kid back from doing what he wanted to as well? They spent their evenings on deck, charting the stars of the unknown sky. Tirelia had three moons, all smaller in size than Earth's. Even with multiple moons, the stars were more brilliant than on Earth.

Armed with his newly acquired knowledge from the guidebook, Peter felt better equipped to mingle. They were portraying themselves as residents of Ulthar, an inland town several days' journey away. Mozzie had picked the town which was known for revering cats. Their journey took them northeast across the sea to the rugged mountains of Zan. Peter quickly learned that Inquanok was not a tourist attraction. The sailors appeared satisfied with his explanation they were returning to pay their respects to a relative who'd passed away, but Peter was dismayed by the way they described the destination. The cold twilight conditions of Inquanok would be a dismal place for a child, they warned. Peter got the impression the local inhabitants had few children because of the forbidding conditions.

So far, he hadn't appeared to suffer any negative side effects from the drugs, but Peter was on constant alert. Lavinia had admitted she couldn't predict how long the medicine would ward off algolnium sickness.

Their second day at sea, Peter grew uneasy when he realized he hadn't seen Neal for over an hour. He found Mozzie standing on the bow scanning the far horizon.

"Have you seen Neal?" he asked. "The last I saw him he was with the cabin boy."

"They're fine. Neal yelled down a few minutes ago, saying I should join them." He snorted a laugh. "I appreciate his confidence but these legs aren't meant for climbing."

"Climbing what? Where are they?"

Mozzie jerked his head upwards and Peter groaned. There was Neal waving down at him from the crow's nest. It was just as well he hadn't seen him climb up. Having a heart attack wouldn't help anyone.

"You should have seen him scale the rigging," Mozzie said proudly, smiling up at them. "He beat the cabin boy easily." He shot Peter a glance. "You worry too much. He needs the exercise."

"We all do for the trek in the mountains we're about to embark upon. I don't expect we'll get much assistance from the townspeople of Inquanok."

"They don't sound very hospitable, but perhaps the reports are exaggerated."

"The sailors also confirmed what was reported in the guidebook about the nearby onyx quarries. Azathoth's fortress is reportedly built of onyx. Has anyone mentioned him or his stronghold to you?"

"Only in terms of dread," Mozzie said, lowering his voice. "They say it was built on top of a mountain no one dares climb. They call it Unknown Kadath because no one has ever visited the place. They have legends about the fortress being built by the Outer Gods when they descended onto the planet. I've heard no one call them aliens. They say their Tirelian gods fear them and stay away."

"And that's where we're taking Neal. Are we doing the right thing?"

"Don't torture yourself over things for which we have no choice. According to Neal, his grandfather and Zophar made the trip and survived. Gideon and Lavinia must believe it's possible for us to do the same. Did you hear about the yaks?"

"That's a bit of welcome news. It will reduce the amount of time we'll need for the trek." Yaks were readily available in Inquanok. They'd be able to rent them to travel to the foothills. Peter was an experienced horseman. He'd ridden camels and elephants, but yaks would be a new experience.

"I'm not convinced I'm meant to travel by yak," Mozzie said. "I may accompany you on foot."

"You can't," Peter objected. "You'll hold us back. I thought you told me you've ridden camels."

"That may have been a bit of an exaggeration," he admitted. "I've been _near _camels. Still, how difficult can they be?"

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

"Whoa!"

The reaction of Mozzie's mount to his command was to put his ears back and charge after Neal's yak. Neal was galloping across the field as if he were in a race to Kadath. The animals were outfitted with saddles, but Neal didn't need one. He leaned over the animal's neck, guiding him with his hands and gentle words. The yak appeared to understand him. Peter tried not to speculate on whether the animal actually could. They were making surprisingly fast progress and they needed to maintain it.

They'd arrived in the port of Inquanok early that morning. After stopping to purchase heavy coats and supplies for the trek, they hired three yaks at a stable near the market. Peter wished they could have spent more time in the town. The onyx trade must be a prosperous business for the buildings were richly carved with gold inlays and the quays constructed from basalt. The architecture was different from Hlanith. Spires and bulbous domes lent a fantastic appearance to the dark onyx buildings. But Inquanok was no place to linger on this trip. As if Peter needed a reminder, he'd spotted another group of the black-robed monks—worshippers of Azathoth.

They'd leave their mounts behind at the quarry stable then would hike on foot the steep mountain paths leading to Kadath. Rough trails were laid out, but locals warned that no one with any sense dared venture near the mountain. They spoke of an unimaginable evil who dwelled within the forbidding stronghold. One wizened old stone carver told them that they'd know they'd arrived at Kadath when they saw the face of the god carved onto its slope.

Peter urged his yak to greater speed. Mozzie would have to keep up. Kadath lay ahead. It was the final sprint.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

The speed bump came in the mountains. After days of hiking rugged paths, there was still no sign of Kadath. Locals had said they'd recognize the peak by the immense head of a god carved onto the southwestern slope looking toward Inquanok, but no one could give them any indication how far they'd have to travel to get there. Nor did they know who had originally made the trails. _The compass_ continued to indicate that the armillary sphere was to the northeast, but how many days—or weeks—would they need to travel?

They'd brought as much dried meat and fruit as they could carry. Water they'd obtained from mountain streams. Peter had bought a fishing rod in town and managed to catch some fish to supplement their diet. Their saving grace was that it wasn't winter. Locals had provided descriptions of edible shelf mushrooms which grew on tree trunks. They were surprisingly sustaining.

When Peter awoke in the early dawn, Neal was still asleep, curled up inside his bedroll. Their shelter for the night had been a recessed alcove along the steep path. They'd now spent twelve days on Tirelia. They were all on the clock, and none more so than Mozzie.

Mozzie was perched close to the edge of the slope, gazing down at the vista below. Peter walked over to crouch next to him. "Did you spot any shantaks?"

Mozzie shook his head. "Not unless those specks high overhead are them. One of my drinking buddies at the Crescent Moon told me we'd know we were close to Kadath when we saw them."

"Wasn't he also the one who said that would be the last thing we'd see? They'd seize us in their claws and drop us off a cliff."

Mozzie shrugged. "He was only repeating the legends. They could be wrong. You've seen the birds. Did they look like killers to you?"

"Neal and I only saw them from afar. Von Junzt in _Unaussprechliche Kulte _describes them as having red scaly bodies with short feathered tails. His drawing made them look like pterodactyls." Peter eyed the steep path which lay ahead. "Conditions will only get worse from here. We may not find any mushrooms as we climb higher. We'll have to rely exclusively on what we've already gathered."

Mozzie nodded. "You should take my food supplies. I'll carry the books and sketchpads—anything non-essential."

He didn't need to elaborate. Lavinia had warned them that Mozzie might not be able to maintain his integrity for more than two weeks at a maximum. He'd be shot back to Arkham when that occurred. They couldn't take the chance he'd disappear with essential gear.

The planet's lighter gravity had enabled them to climb paths which would have been otherwise unthinkable. Neal was carrying the lightweight mushrooms and some of the fruit in his backpack. He'd insisted on carrying his own bedroll, but as their route became steeper he wouldn't be able to. Talk of returning to Inquanok was out of the question. They had to retrieve the armillary sphere before the masking drug wore off, and the deadline was fast approaching on that, too.

"Are we doing the right thing by not warning Neal about you?" Peter asked.

"That I may vanish?"

"Exactly. He'll be devastated."

"That's why I advise against it. It may not happen. He's already lost too many—" Mozzie stopped abruptly as light running steps were heard behind them.

"What did I miss?" Neal asked, his eyes bright with curiosity.

"Only boring stuff," Mozzie said, standing up. "Are you ready for a delicious mushroom, fruit, and jerky breakfast?"

Their breakthrough came a day later. Midday on the slope, Peter was scanning the mountains ahead when he spotted it. An immense face chiseled into the side of a mountain. The narrow elongated features reminded him of the Egyptian pharaoh Akhenaten.

"The face of a god," Mozzie murmured, draping an arm over Neal's shoulders.

Neal looked up at him. "He doesn't look at all like Azathoth."

"No, but the Ymar are shapeshifters," Peter explained. "That may have been their appearance to the early humans they came in contact with."

"A warning for us to be careful when we arrive at Azathoth's stronghold," Mozzie declared. "Azathoth could resemble anyone, but our destination is in sight!"

They could finally see the mountain, but it was a hike of several days away. Peter scanned the rocky slope they'd need to traverse to arrive at Kadath. There was no sign of the stronghold. It was likely on the far side of the mountain.

"MOZZIE!"

At Neal's anguished scream, Peter spun around. Neal was clutching thin air. Mozzie was nowhere to be seen.

* * *

_Notes: Peter and Neal are left without Mozzie's help to tackle Azathoth's fortress. The situation looks bleak, but in the next chapter, help arrives from an unexpected source._

_Last week I wrote about the planet Tirelia for the blog. I'm not the only one who has been engaged in worldbuilding. Penna created the lush planet of Arden for her upcoming novel. She discusses her vision in her blog post this week: "Green Fiction."_

_We started writing the blog over three years ago, in January 2016. At the time, I was in the midst of posting The Dreamer. Although we've occasionally included references to our earlier stories, in general they haven't been covered as thoroughly as our later stories. This week I wanted to shine the spotlight on An Evening with Genji. The post is called "Genji and Fanfics." I celebrated the story's 4th birthday yesterday, on June 25. Coincidentally, the Met Museum has just finished a three-month exhibition on The Tale of Genji. But the primary inspiration for the post was an article I read about the connection between The Tale of Genji and fanfics._

_Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation_  
_Chapter Visuals and Music: The Time Crystals board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website_


	7. Airborne

**Chapter 7: Airborne**

**Day 13 on the Planet Tirelia**

Neal raced to the edge of the slope, shouting Mozzie's name. He'd vanished in front of his eyes. Neal was sure he hadn't fallen—they weren't that close to the edge—and he would have heard something. Mozzie simply winked out as if he never existed.

Peter grabbed Neal and dragged him back to the trail, telling him Mozzie was fine and back in Arkham. How could he know? Neal clung to Peter's coat, not attempting to listen to the words. How long before Peter would disappear too? One by one, everyone left.

"Listen to me. Mozzie is not dead." Peter was speaking very slowly and quietly, forcing Neal to pay attention. "He's returned to Arkham, that's all."

Neal raised his head. "Did he know this would happen?"

Peter nodded. "We were warned it might occur."

"Will you go back, too?"

Peter hesitated, thus providing Neal the answer he dreaded. "Not for a long time. We'll be back in Providence. You won't be alone."

Neal swallowed, choking back his grief. This was only temporary. He and Peter would be reunited with Mozzie once they went back to Arkham. Could Zophar and Henry travel with them? If not, Neal would have to wait a few years to reunite with them but eventually it would all work out.

Neal pulled away. "We better get started." The faster they retrieved the armillary sphere, the quicker they could all be together again.

They stopped at a stream where Neal could wash his face. The water was ice cold but it brought his thoughts into focus. Mozzie wasn't dead. Neal just needed to make sure Peter didn't vanish without taking him along. He tried to make Peter walk in front so he could keep an eye on him, but he refused. They compromised by walking side by side.

Neal's balance was a lot better than Peter's. He'd been able to skip along the rocks, leaving Peter and Mozzie in the dust. He loved the buoyancy Tirelia gave him. It was like invisible balloons were attached to his feet and shoulders. But now, Neal forced himself to slow down to Peter's pace, never letting him leave his sight.

When twilight fell, Peter called a halt. They ate dinner under the light of the aurora borealis. It was a regular feature on the planet, arriving every evening not long after the onset of darkness. It put on a light show for about a half hour afterward. Tonight the sky was painted in luminous greens, forming the shape of an immense bird with wings which stretched across the sky.

As the evening lengthened, Peter told stories of Mozzie and their lives in Arkham. He talked about their pets and how happy Betelgeuse would be to see Mozzie. Neal was over the tears. Mozzie would be waiting for him in Arkham to welcome him to his new home.

Before, Peter and Mozzie had taken turns keeping watch at night. It was even more important now, but Neal wouldn't be watching for animals. He had a bead on Peter. Mozzie had shimmered for a second or two before he vanished. That should give Neal enough time to grab onto him.

"Our position is protected," Peter said. "We haven't been bothered by animals since we began the trek. There's no need for you to stay awake."

"I'm not sleepy. As long as I'm awake, you might as well catch some rest."

Peter frowned, not saying anything for a moment. "Wake me in an hour."

The sky was dark but Neal could easily make out Peter's features. He'd discovered he could see better in the dark than the others, and this was one night he especially appreciated it. They'd laid their bedrolls side by side to conserve heat. Peter usually wasn't sensitive to the cold, but tonight he was.

The night was quiet. A few hoots which sounded like owls and insect-like chirps. Soon Peter's regular breathing indicated he was asleep. Neal huddled closer to him, listening to the night sounds.

Sometime later Peter woke up. "I'll keep watch. Try to get some sleep."

"In a little while," Neal said while inwardly scoffing at the notion.

"Neal, I'm not going anywhere. It's okay to close your eyes. I'll be here when you wake up."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

Reluctantly Neal closed his eyes. He didn't want Peter to think he didn't trust him. But he kept a firm grasp on his arm, just in case.

Sometime later he awoke with a start. Had he heard something or was it only a dream? Peter was was still asleep but the sky was starting to lighten. Neal listened intently and heard it again—the scrabbling noise of some animal on the trail. It might just be a rabbit—they'd caught glimpses of several in the mountains—but something told him this was much bigger.

He relaxed his hold on Peter's arm and stood up. The sounds came from up ahead where the trail curved around a bend. He pulled on his boots and grabbed his coat. As he sneaked closer, he came face to face with a gigantic red bird. It was about as big as a horse and was blocking the trail. Its skin was covered in scales. The wings had no feathers but its short tail had a tasseled tuft and feathers on its neck formed a colorful mane. Neal had heard the descriptions. This had to be a shantak.

"Why were you crying, little one?"

Neal's mouth dropped that he could understand the low raspy hiss, but the tone wasn't scary. The shantak's large amber eyes blinked at him. It was cocking its head as if expecting a response.

"You heard me?" he whispered, using the shantak's language. The hisses came naturally out of his mouth.

"I heard your call the previous day. We've been following you and your companions. Are they your parents?"

"No, but they've taken their place. One of them had to return home. I didn't understand and was afraid he'd died."

Racing footsteps behind him alerted him that Peter had arrived. "Neal, step back!" he urged.

"It's okay," Neal said, switching to English. "He won't hurt us." He returned to the shantak. "I'm right, aren't I?"

The bird nodded its head. "I have no quarrel with you."

Peter stood behind Neal and wrapped his arms firmly around his chest. Neal stopped to explain what they'd been talking about. "The shantak may be able to help us. Let me find out."

Peter hesitated. "Okay, but don't agree to do anything until we've talked it through."

"Do you know who we are?" Neal asked the shantak.

"You're not from here. Two-legs don't understand our language, but we have legends of others like you who were here ages ago. They also understood. You glow like they did."

Neal stared at him. He had no idea he glowed. "My name is Neal."

"You may call me Windfire. These mountains are dangerous for a fledgling like you," the shantak added. "You should not be here."

"We must. An item was stolen from us. We need to go to the fortress on Kadath and reclaim it."

Windfire let out a piercing shriek which made him cower. Peter hastily stepped in front of him.

"Don't go there!" the shantak urged. "Evil beyond your comprehension lies there."

"We have no choice," Neal insisted. "If we don't reclaim our property, I and many others will die." He hesitated only a moment. Windfire was as close to a dragon as he would likely ever see. Instinctively he knew he could trust the shantak. "Will you take us there?"

When he didn't respond, Peter muttered, "What are you two talking about?"

"I asked him to take us to Azathoth's fortress."

"That's insane!"

"No, it's not. He can fly. He's as big as a horse, maybe larger. We rode yaks. Why can't we ride shantaks?"

"There are several good reasons. How would we keep from falling off? How—"

The shantak uttered a low hiss. "This I will offer. The head of our kind is held prisoner by the evil one who dwells in the castle. I and one of my brothers will fly you there. If you free our leader, we'll take you wherever you'd like to go afterward."

Neal translated his offer, but Peter refused to agree. "Don't you remember the warnings we heard about shantaks? This could be a trick. They could be under Azathoth's control."

"Windfire is offering us a chance," Neal protested. "Windfire says he and his brother can drop us on top of the castle. The roof's not guarded. Shantaks had scouted it out but they're too large to fit through the rooftop openings."

Peter shook his head. "It's too risky. I can't allow it."

"How else are we going to get there?"

Peter must have realized this was their best hope as he finally relented. The shantak flew off, hissing that he'd return in a little while with his brother.

Peter made Neal have breakfast, although he was far too excited to eat much. Shantaks might be better than dragons. He'd never spoken with any animal before, but Peter said when he visited Merope in the future, his grown-up self had been able to communicate with some of the creatures. He wished Mozzie could have been here, but it could be for the best. Mozzie was barely able to keep his seat on a yak. Neal would have had to rope him onto a shantak, something they could have taken offense at.

Neal kept checking his hands to see if they glowed. Peter explained he was likely radiating in some band of the spectrum which the shantaks could detect.

The shantaks arrived while they were packing up. Windfire introduced his brother Swiftwing. Their heads and necks were striped with iridescent green scales and distinctive plumage which allowed them to be told apart.

Windfire said they would land in a safe area on top of the castle. They would remain in the vicinity to help their leader once he was freed. Windfire taught Neal his name, which translated into Mountainspirit, and also a call to make. Peter said it sounded like a high-pitched shriek.

"When we hear your call, we will return for you. Tell your father he has no need to fear. We shall remember."

It would take more than Windfire's words to make Peter feel at ease, but he didn't argue as Neal helped him mount Swiftwing. Neal had never felt more alive than when he leaped on top of Windfire. A hard ridge along the shantak's neck provided plenty of space for a grip. Peter's legs were long enough that he could sit astride his mount. Neal simply lay flat on his stomach. When he was settled in place, he patted Windfire's neck. "Ready when you are."

Windfire gave a low whistle of acknowledgment, and with one sweep of his wings, Neal was airborne. He glanced at Peter whose face shone with excitement. He was riding Swiftwing like he was meant to be a shantak-rider. With majestic slow sweeps of their powerful wings, the birds quickly gained altitude.

If only Kadath weren't so close. He could have easily ridden all day and into the night.

But their destination loomed ever nearer. Much too quickly they soared above the gigantic features of the god's face and beyond the summit. On the far side of the mountain, a castle emerged from the early morning fog. Slabs of onyx as smooth as glass flanked the sides of the fortress. Perhaps there were hidden stairways to the interior, but the angle was too steep to scale the castle from the outside.

The shantaks began to drift lower. The fortress looked like an immense Egyptian temple with sloped sides such as Gramps had described. Windfire said that Mountainspirit was imprisoned on one of the upper levels. Neal spotted some porch-like overlooks on the sides of the building. If they could access one of those, the shantak would be able to take flight.

With silent wingbeats, the shantaks landed on the roof. Steam rose out of dark curved pipes, making the onyx slabs appear blanketed in smoke. Neal jumped off Windfire and hugged his neck. "Thank you. Wish us luck!" he whispered in low hisses.

"May the wind be at your back, Neal. We shall not forget your names. You and Peter will always be considered our friends."

As the shantaks soared upward, Peter checked his compass. For the first time since they arrived on Tirelia, the arrow indicated south rather than northeast. Somewhere in the fortress, the armillary sphere was waiting for them.

They left their bedrolls and Neal's knapsack wedged behind a column on the roof. For the search in the fortress, they took only one empty bag and hoped it would soon contain the armillary sphere.

There were a few wooden doors in small shrine-like constructions. Windfire had advised taking the one which was nearest to their landing spot. They couldn't hear a sound coming from inside. Peter paused, his hand at the door. "You wait outside. If I'm seized, don't attempt to go inside. You know how to call the shantaks."

His heart pounding out of his chest, Neal nodded. "Why is the door unlocked?"

"They may not expect any attack from above. Their fortress is so impregnable, they could be lulled into complacency." He clasped Neal's shoulder. "This could be the break we need."

After Neal hid around the corner, Peter slipped inside. Within a minute, he came back. "We're in luck. It appears deserted."

Neal followed him into a dim, small room. It appeared to be the equivalent of a mudroom or perhaps a staging area but there was nothing in it now. The main feature was a staircase which led to the level below. They crept down the staircase and into a corridor of lofty dimensions interspersed with oddly-shaped polygonal columns carved into intricate arabesques. They reminded Neal of tentacles. Everything was made of onyx.

On either side, small cells opened onto the hallway. There were no furnishings or doors. Small slits cut into the walls allowed a little light to seep in. Only the iron chains bolted to walls indicated the purpose of the rooms but the layer of dust meant they hadn't been used for a long time. Perhaps that was why they hadn't run into anyone yet.

The faint stench of ghasts was pervasive, setting Neal's nerves on edge. His amulet glowed softly, an unnecessary warning.

He focused for any sound which might signal Mountainspirit or a ghast. Surely patrols were about. But since they were nocturnal, perhaps they were asleep. After creeping along most of the length of the hallway, Neal heard a slight snuffling sound. He grabbed Peter's arm and pointed to a room to the right.

They snuck up to the entrance and peered inside. A shantak was collapsed on the floor, its neck tightly ringed by an iron manacle which was chained to the wall. It looked up at them, its eyes dull and unfocused. The scales on its body were faded and worn. The feathers on the top of his head were reduced to a few straggly plumes.

Neal's heart went out to him. "Are you Mountainspirit?" he hissed softly, as he crept forward. Peter had his hand on his shoulder but didn't attempt to hold him back.

The shantak reared its head. "What manner of creature are you?"

"We're friends. Windfire sent us to you. We're here to free you."

"Tell him to lie quietly," Peter whispered. "I'll unbolt its collar. It's a simple latch mechanism."

It didn't require a key but simple wasn't the word Neal would have used. It was far beyond the capability of a shantak to open it.

Neal patted Mountainspirit's head and tried to reassure him while Peter worked on the collar. "How long have you been here?" Neal asked.

"Azathoth took me prisoner many seasons ago. Ghasts used a net to capture me. They think holding me hostage will keep my family from attacking them."

"We haven't found anyone else in the fortress."

"They dwell on the lower floors. A ghast brings me something to eat every two or three days—just enough to survive, mind you. Otherwise, they leave me alone. One came last night. I doubt anyone will be here for quite a while. If you help me down the hall, there's a balcony a few paces down. They drag me there to display my humiliation to my family. It will be my escape platform."

"Windfire and Swiftwing said they'd remain circling ahead. Perhaps they can help," Neal said, trying to be optimistic, although he couldn't imagine how one bird could keep another aloft.

When Peter removed the collar, Mountainspirit groaned in relief. An ugly red inflamed band marred his neck. Neal wished he had some salve to spread on the wound.

The shantak flexed his wings as he staggered to stand upright. Azathoth must have picked that cell so there wouldn't be far to drag him. The balcony was only a few cells away. Shantaks were clumsy on land, and Mountainspirit even more so, but Peter held onto his body while guiding him along. Neal assisted as much as he could. When they reached the balcony, Peter knelt down so the shantak could use his back as a step stool. Neal pushed from the back and tried to keep him from lurching to one side. Once Mountainspirit was on the ledge, Peter held onto his legs while the bird flapped and flexed its wings.

"I can see the others!" Neal whispered excitedly.

"Set me loose," Mountainspirit ordered. "I shall not forget you and Peter. I wish you success. We will wait for you."

Neal stroked his neck a final time and stepped back. With a mighty sweep of his wings, Mountainspirit made a small hop and he was airborne. At first, he plummeted downward, but then his wings caught a draft and he was carried aloft. As he passed them on the balcony, he dipped one wing. Windfire and Swiftwing were still circling above.

Neal looked up at Peter. "He's going to be okay!"

Peter tousled his hair. "Yes, he is, and so will we. Let's go find that armillary sphere!"

Neal grinned at the gesture. Mozzie and Peter had both assured him that messing up his hair brought them good luck. He already had plenty from his dragon.

The upper floor seemed bright in comparison to the staircase they took going downward. Peter suspected Azathoth kept the sphere in either the equivalent of his office or his laboratory or it might be that vast chamber of brass machinery and rings that he'd had nightmares about.

Fear began to lap at Neal as they went downward. His amulet was glowing more brightly, indicating the ghasts were nearby. The compass continued to guide them south and a little to the east, but it gave no indication of how far they needed to go. The floor underneath the top floor consisted of more empty cells. He wondered who had been held there. Zophar had explained that ghasts were cannibals. Were the cells meant for ghasts or someone else? The nauseating stench in the dark passageways grew stronger the deeper they went.

He and Peter didn't talk but it was impossible to keep their boots from making dismayingly loud thuds on the stairs. With each flight of stairs they descended, Peter insisted on checking out the corridor first. On the third flight, Neal was waiting on the stairs when he heard a slurping sound and a strangled gasp.

He peeked around the corner to see a creature had attached itself to Peter's chest. It looked like an octopus with a black body marked with broad yellow bands. It was the size of an elongated basketball and had short wings. A mass of tentacles formed a clump at one end. One of its arms was wrapped around Peter's neck.

_Don't approach me!_ Peter's order was a blast in Neal's head. The agonized mute plea in Peter's eyes stopped him in his tracks.

After another disgusting slurp, the creature flew off, speeding down the dark corridor.

Neal raced to Peter. He was lying immobile but his eyes were open. "Can't move," he forced out. "Don't let them . . . get . . . pendants."

This was only a short reprieve. The winged creature would be back, probably with ghasts. They'd carry Peter away, and there was nothing Neal could do to stop them. He was too heavy for Neal to drag him even if there were some place to hide.

"Azathoth wants you alive. I'll follow and rescue you." Neal slipped the compendium, language amulet, and compass off his neck. "I'll keep these safe," he promised, taking Peter's backpack.

The sound of hooves echoed in the corridor. They were coming.

Neal flattened himself in the shadows behind a column. Risking a quick look, he saw three tall emaciated figures loom over Peter. One of the ghasts hurled him over one shoulder and they took off at a gallop. _Azathoth's phantom army_, that's what Zophar called them. Their rough hides reminded Neal of elephant skin. Their jaws gaped open like fearsome jackal-monsters. They'd killed his mom and grandfather, and now they had Peter.

Neal clung to the hope that somehow he'd be able to save him. The ghasts wouldn't hear him, not with the racket they were making, but was another octopus hiding somewhere?

Neal removed his boots and socks and stowed them in the backpack. Silently he dashed forward, his feet barely touching the ground. Weaving between columns, he followed the ghasts through the dark hallways down three stairwells, till they entered a chamber. Neal hid at the entrance.

One half of the vast chamber was filled to the ceiling with a monstrous brass machine—all rings and gears and spheres. Brilliantly colored crystals were embedded in the framework. And standing in front of it was the image from the drawing—a lean alien in slate-blue armor. He was standing upright on three legs with at least two tails whipping around behind him. A helmeted visor covered his face. The armor appeared flexible enough to be a second skin, and maybe that's what it was. Azathoth was at least two feet taller than the ghasts. Peter seemed like a child in his clutches.

Neal watched as Azathoth snatched Peter from the ghast's shoulder and positioned him next to the machinery. Brass bands sprang out to encircle him. Peter's feet dangled a foot off the slick onyx floor. Neal studied every move Azathoth made as he spun wheels to lock him in place. Neal would have to reverse the procedure to free him. Peter's eyes were open, but his limbs appeared rigid.

Azathoth spun around and addressed the ghasts, making weird clicking sounds. After being able to understand shantaks, Neal wasn't surprised that he could understand them.

"There must be other intruders. Who else dares enter my domain?" With lightning speed, he wrapped an arm tentacle around the head of one of the ghasts. The gurgling sound he made was nauseating. Neal knew the ghasts had no language skills. Azathoth must be able to pipe directly into their brains.

_Hide! _

Neal heard Zophar's frantic words once more in his head. He gazed around, panicked. There was nowhere in the corridor to shield him. Could he climb the column next to the entrance? Its twisted arabesques should provide enough support. Neal jumped onto it and began scaling it, scrabbling up and up till he was near the ceiling. He was sure he was going to find an octopus but instead he found a gift. There were breaks in the wall at the top. Perhaps they were meant for air circulation. They were probably too narrow for the creatures of Kadath, but not for a kid his size. He was able to squirm his way through to the other side.

He was now inside Azathoth's lair. By snaking around the molding, he inched his way toward the machinery. Azathoth was ordering the ghasts to search for other intruders, but they wouldn't find him. Ghasts couldn't fly.

The onyx walls were covered in script. Written in gold calligraphy, the text appeared to be prayers to the gods, but there was no time to take more than the briefest of looks. Azathoth was approaching Peter.

"Who are you?" the alien demanded in Tirelian. His voice was low and resonant with a trace of a British accent. When Neal heard him, he felt compelled to tell him everything he wanted to hear. But this was the Ymar responsible for the deaths of the ones he loved. Hatred burned within him, destroying the voice's influence.

Peter was staring blankly ahead. He wasn't wearing his amulet so he didn't know what Azathoth was saying. Was that a good thing or would it infuriate the Ymar? Neal watched terrified as one of Azathoth's arms lashed out and attached itself to Peter's head.

Before Neal could figure what he could do to distract him, a wooden flute began piping. It played a short phrase then stopped. Azathoth released his grip on Peter and strode over in great bounding leaps to a side wall where there was a large basin on a table. The bowl was about the size of a kitchen sink. It was made of some translucent material and appeared to be filled with liquid.

The basin began to glow as Azathoth leaned over it. "You have news?" Neal was astonished to hear him speak in English.

"My Lord Azathoth, I bring an urgent message from our priests. Despite their efforts at conservation, their supply of crystals dwindles rapidly. They only have a few left. The last cave has been thoroughly searched, and there are none to be found. Without more crystals, we will have no means to receive ghasts or zoogs. Without moon-tree wine, there will be no new priests."

"I am aware of the situation and have begun making plans. There may be no crystals currently on Earth, but that has not always been the case. My scientists are working on the solution."

"Is it based on the same technology you use to retrieve Neal?"

"A modification. Inform the priests, Azathoth has not forgotten them. Soon they will receive an abundant supply of moon-tree wine. I'll order the zoogs to manufacture more to tide you over."

"Is Neal now your prisoner?"

"Not yet, but he can't hold out for much longer. As he becomes sicker, his signal will be easier to trace."

"Do you wish me to send agents to Arkham?"

"Neal's friends are of small consequence. Insignificant fleas, not worthy of our notice."

Neal saw Peter's eyes flicker. These two fleas were about to do real mischief.

When Azathoth turned away from the basin, the glow vanished. He strode over to a recessed panel in a wall and manipulated some dials with one . . . Neal hesitated to call it hand although it had four digits. He began making strange _meeps_ to the panel. As Neal listened, the high-pitched squeaks began to make sense. He was speaking Elnath. Neal had never heard it before, but he was sure that's what it was.

Zophar had told him about the barrel-shaped aliens—the first known visitors to Earth. The Elnath had developed the crystal technology. Some of them must still be alive. Azathoth was asking for a progress report. The _meeps_ coming through the speaker were too soft for Neal to make out their meaning. There was something about crystals in their discussion . . . He heard waves mentioned a couple of times. Azathoth appeared to grow impatient, his _meeps_ growing louder and higher-pitched. It was like a fingernail scraping on a blackboard. Neal involuntarily flinched in discomfort.

In mid-meep, Azathoth abruptly cut short the discussion, his tails swishing back and forth. With huge bounds, he leaped out of the chamber.

Neal only waited a minute before started the climb down. He forgot caution and slid most of the way, not attempting to brake his descent. He didn't dare call out to Peter. His column was to one side of the brass monster. When he jumped in front of Peter and waved while putting a finger to his lips, Peter broke into a wide smile.

"I'm going to free you," Neal whispered while racing to the wheels.

"That sounds good. Hurry!"

Neal was already spinning the dials which should relax the rings. He could see Peter move his arms. The octopus toxin must have worn off. After a few twirls, Peter was able to slip free.

"Can you walk?" Neal asked anxiously.

Peter nodded. "The paralysis left me as I was being strapped into the machine. Any sign of the armillary sphere?"

"I haven't seen it."

They both scanned the array of rings in front of them. Peter found it first. The small antique was nestled in one of the rings about ten feet off the ground. Peter couldn't reach it, but Neal could by standing on his shoulders. With one snatch, they had their prize. In the center of the sphere was a large purple crystal so dark it was almost black.

Peter inserted the armillary sphere into the backpack, slipped it over his shoulders, and they dashed toward the entrance of the chamber.

No time to check to see if the coast was clear. From here on, it'd be a race to reach the roof before being spotted. Since Neal knew the way better than Peter, he took the lead, only slowing enough for Peter to keep up. The halls were strangely empty. Why wasn't anyone there?

Midway up their climb, they found out why. Loud grunts and screams rent the air. Peter pulled Neal back and motioned for him to wait while he checked it out. Neal ignored the order. He crept silently a few steps behind Peter.

There must have been twenty ghasts—all ripping each other apart. The smell of blood mingled with ghast stench was overpowering.

"Quick! This is our chance!" Peter grabbed him by the hand and urged him back up the stairs.

Up, up and up. Through hallways and more stairs. Neal knew the ghasts were cannibals. Were they arguing over how Peter had been able to sneak in? Well, now they were letting them escape.

At long last, they came to their rooftop refuge. Neal stood on the roof and shrieked the shantak call he'd been taught. Windfire and Swiftwing arrived within seconds.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Windfire was true to his word. He and Swiftwing flew them to the woods north of Hlanith where two weeks ago they'd emerged from the cave. The journey which had taken weeks to accomplish was over in a matter of hours but left them with unforgettable views of the mountains, seas, and farmlands of Tirelia. Peter yearned to explore the country more, but that would have to be on another expedition. He had the armillary sphere safely stowed in his backpack. It was time to return home. By now Azathoth must have noticed the theft. His agents would be fanning out across the planet. But thanks to the shantaks, they'd been given a get-out-of-jail-free card.

Peter couldn't speak their language but he expressed his appreciation to their rescuers in Tirelian, hoping they understood. As for Neal, parting was difficult. Peter might not understand the hisses and soft shrieks he made but there was no mistaking the way he hugged the necks of both birds.

The townspeople were terrified of shantaks and considered them omens of bad luck. It was for the best that the birds quickly flew off. If they'd lingered, Neal's sadness at the parting would only have grown worse.

"Can we come back and visit them?" Neal asked as they watched the birds soar high in the sky.

"I hope so," Peter said, trying to be non-committal while doubting they'd ever see them again.

"They said they'd welcome us. There's so much to Tirelia we've never seen. Don't we need to?"

"I'd love that, too." There was no point in bringing up Azathoth and the Ymar. Although their power on Tirelia was limited, the Ymar still posed a threat to the local populations. But the more urgent problem was what Earth was facing. "You told me you'd have no difficulty finding the entrance to the cave. Care to prove it?"

They munched the last of their jerky and fruit as they crossed the field and entered the woods. Neal was confident he'd directed the birds to land at the correct location, and Peter had learned to value his ability to navigate. In comparison with the passageways in Azathoth's fortress, this was simple. To Neal's eyes, the shimmering path was brighter than ever.

"Here's the entrance," Neal said, resting his hand lightly on the rock wall. The cairn they'd built to mark the spot was undisturbed.

Peter had been dreaming about El nightly. Once he removed the crystal from the armillary sphere, the timeline should be restored and Neal would return to the present. But the boy standing beside him didn't share his joy. From his standpoint, there wasn't much on Earth to call to him.

"You have a bright future lying ahead of you," Peter said, "although it may not look that way now."

Neal didn't say anything, his eyes sweeping the sky.

Peter clasped his hand. "I'm sorry but it's time to go."

Neal took a deep breath and nodded. "Let's get started."

* * *

_Notes: Neal and Peter survived the fortress on Kadath. They've retrieved the armillary sphere. But arguably the most difficult time may still lie ahead. That will be covered in next week's concluding chapter, "Time Lapse."  
_

_Despite their fearsome appearance, shantaks turned out to be allies against Azathoth. They're another example of animals with enhanced abilities which have been featured in these stories. This week's blog post discusses "The Animals of Arkham Files" and is a follow-up to Penna's post on "The Animals of Caffrey Conversation."_

_Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation_  
_Chapter Visuals and Music: The Time Crystals board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website_


	8. Time Lapse

**Chapter 8: Time Lapse**

Once Peter reentered the cave with Neal, they were back on Earth. Neal quickly turned around to gaze wistfully at the world they'd left behind. Although Peter couldn't see anything through the opening to Tirelia, the boy could. Did he hope to see one more glimpse of shantaks?

Peter kept a firm grip on his shoulder so Neal couldn't dart back, but he didn't make the attempt. "Mozzie's waiting for us," Neal said, looking up at him. "It's time to head back."

Was that a sign that the adult Neal was emerging? It was a relief that the boy accepted the reality of what would happen so well. Peter wished that he could say the same for himself. The pain of the upcoming separation already gnawed at him, but he did his best to conceal his sadness. Their last hours together shouldn't be painful ones.

There was less snow on the forest trails than when they'd entered the cave, making Peter all the more curious to know how long they'd been gone. Pagna had warned that time shifts were unpredictable. Levi's Chevy station wagon was still in the parking lot. There was no need to scrape off ice or snow. The vehicle appeared to be in the same condition as when they left. It responded immediately when Peter started the ignition.

Neal searched for a radio station as Peter drove out of the park. They discovered that on Earth it was December 29, ten days after they'd left. The broadcasts were filled with news of upcoming New Year's Eve celebrations. One radio station talked in ominous tones of impending conflict in Vietnam now that President Kennedy had sent helicopters to Saigon. Peter quickly changed stations. He'd give anything to call his brother Tommy—tell him he loved him—but that was the exact sort of tampering he was forbidden to do. It made him realize he needed to leave as soon as possible before the urge became unbearable.

Neither one of them was hungry, and Peter drove straight back to the cottage. The last time they'd bathed had been in Hlanith. They and their clothes were filthy. The shower at Levi's place called to him. They'd left the heat on at a low setting, and the hot water tank should have ample water.

As soon as they arrived, Peter pressed the button on the compendium which would transmit a signal to Gideon. Zophar was most likely dead by now, but there was a slight chance they'd altered the timeline sufficiently that he hadn't been killed. Peter hoped he'd done the right thing in not telling Neal. The child had lost his mother and grandfather. If events transpired as they had in the past, there'd be no need to add to his pain by telling him about Zophar. Soon he wouldn't be able to remember anything about what had happened.

Peter shaved off his beard. His scruffy appearance might have saved him from being recognized by Azathoth, but he had no desire to return as a mountain man for El. After a lunch of chili and spam, Peter busied himself doing laundry while waiting for Gideon.

The sense of urgency was a constant. Neal still had ymarite inside him. The drug he'd been given to block the signal might fail at any moment. Unless a permanent solution could be found, Azathoth would be able to find him once more. The seemingly healthy little boy who was happily drawing pictures of shantaks at the kitchen table would grow ill as Lavinia's drug wore off. Peter realized he was repeating to himself all the reasons he couldn't delay because he wished he could spend more time with Neal to ease the transition.

"Someone's walking up the drive!" Neal called out excitedly "I bet it's Zophar." He raced to the front windows and Peter followed more slowly. Neal's expression grew puzzled as he stared at the man in a safari outfit and pith helmet. He turned to look up at Peter. "Do you know who he is?"

"That's a friend of Zophar's," Peter said reassuringly. "His name is Phineas. You'll like him."

"Did he just come from Africa?"

"Let's ask him."

Peter opened the door and welcomed Phineas Dittlesworth into the cottage. Gideon had created a second identity specifically for Neal. The British ornithologist was meant to be a blend of Doctor Dolittle and eccentric scientist. The distinctive attire had been chosen to make Dittlesworth appear more approachable to a young child.

"What ho!" he exclaimed boisterously. "What a jolly group this is! Allow me to present myself. Dittlesworth's my name." He shook hands with Neal and gave him a big wink. "My friends call me Phineas, and I can tell already we'll be best friends."

"I'm Neal, and this is Peter."

"Enchanted to meet you both."

"Is Zophar with you?" Neal asked.

"Zophar has been delayed," Peter said hurriedly before Phineas could say anything.

"That's right," Phineas confirmed, slanting a quick glance at Peter. "He sent me to you."

"Neal, why don't you finish those drawings while I show Phineas around the cottage?" Peter directed the Meropian to the master bedroom and retrieved the metal case Gideon had given him in Arkham. Closing the door, he said, "I'm from fourteen years in the future and a colleague of yours. This device should explain what happened."

Phineas gave him a curious look and placed his hand on the metal surface, saying nothing for several minutes. The device glowed softly in response to the pressure of his hand. Afterward, Phineas nodded slowly and placed the box in his pocket. "Were you successful in your mission?"

Peter nodded. "We retrieved the armillary sphere. I haven't removed the crystal yet. Did Gideon explain what will happen?"

"Yes, and to preserve the timeline, it's best I know as little as possible about what happened in Tirelia. He described Neal's medical condition and I'll act accordingly."

"Is Zophar dead?"

His face grew somber. "He died three days ago. I've been searching for Neal ever since."

"I haven't told him," Peter admitted. "He's already lost two relatives. In a week or so, he won't remember anything. I saw no need for him to experience an additional loss."

"I agree. I'm familiar with the drug Lavinia had you give Neal. I'm surprised it's still working so well. We mustn't delay. It's likely the boy's condition will quickly worsen and we still need to close the wormhole in Providence."

Peter gave him instructions on where to take the car. Phineas would also return the cottage to its original condition. For now, though, it would continue to be a safe refuge for him and Neal, far enough from Providence that ghasts would be less likely to find them.

After showing Phineas how to prepare the furnace and water heater, Peter returned to the kitchen. Neal was still sketching at the table. Events had been happening so equally, Peter hadn't had the time to study the armillary sphere. He fetched it from the backpack and placed it on the kitchen counter. The dark amethyst crystal sparkled in its center. Was the crystal somehow linked to Azathoth? Was it already reporting where they were? For everyone's sake, it needed to be removed. But still Peter hesitated.

No one knew what the precise effect would be on Neal once the crystal was disengaged. Would the adult Neal separate immediately? Would the boy notice anything different? If he collapsed or became ill, how could Peter desert him to return home?

Neal looked up, his eyes opening wide at the sphere. "It's time for us to leave? I didn't realize it would be so soon. It will only take me a couple of minutes to pack my sketchpad."

Peter's heart plummeted to the floor. He thought Neal understood. Was this why the boy hadn't protested more at leaving Tirelia? Neal would be heartbroken, and when Peter left, the only one around to comfort him would be an alien he barely knew. There was no choice, but the grief Peter felt would not soon dissipate.

He pulled up a chair to sit next to Neal. "I'm afraid this is one trip you can't take with me."

"But you told me you came here to get me!" he protested, the excitement on his face turning to anguish. "You said I was an adult in your world. You can't leave me behind now!"

"Take all the time you need," Phineas murmured. "I'll be on the back patio."

"I didn't lie," Peter said gently. "Right now the adult Neal is merged with you. Do you understand?"

He nodded, the tears not far off. "That's why we need to travel to your world," he whispered.

"Once I remove the crystal in the sphere, you'll be separated once more. The timeline will be restored. You won't notice anything different," he added, praying he was right, "but you need to stay here to grow up. If you don't, you won't exist in either world."

Neal stood up, his face red. "Will I ever see you again?"

"I promise you, we'll be best friends. So will Mozzie. You'll meet my wife and play with my dog. You'll be a member of our family. I'm afraid, though, you'll need to wait a while for that to happen."

"How long?"

At Neal's age, a year could sound like an eternity. Peter couldn't tell him the truth. In a week, his memory would be wiped clean. "Not long at all. We'll be together before you know it."

Neal eyed him warily. Did he suspect the truth? Peter longed to be able to alter Neal's future. The next several years would be difficult ones for him.

Neal walked over to the front window in the living room. Peter went over to stand beside him, placing an arm around his shoulders. They stood in silence for a minute, looking out on the snowy landscape.

"I'd like to take your drawings back with me," Peter said. "I'll return them to you when we're together." Neal seemed somewhat comforted by the thought. When he'd been found on the streets of Arkham, he'd only had his amulet and the clothes on his back. Anything else he had now would most likely be lost.

Neal reached into his pocket and pulled out his dragon key ring. "You should take this. It will bring you good luck till I'm there."

Peter wrapped him in a tight hug. "You'll get this back too, I promise you."

Neal didn't answer but he was dry-eyed as he clung to Peter for a moment before releasing him. Staying longer would only make the departure more difficult. Peter called Phineas back into the room.

When Peter extracted the crystal from the armillary sphere, the stone felt warm to the touch.

"Do you feel any different?" Phineas asked Neal.

"No," he said and turned to Peter. "Should I?"

"No reason to," he said reassuringly, hoping that was true.

Phineas gave him his handkerchief and Peter wrapped the crystal in it before placing it in his pocket. He was consumed with doubts. Shouldn't there be a change of same sort? Was Neal still trapped inside? What if Peter went back, but Neal didn't return?

"Do you need to leave now?" Neal asked.

"It's for the best," Peter said, hating himself for having to say it. "Help me pack up your drawings. When we're together, I'll ask you to make more." More lies. The adult Neal wouldn't recall what had happened.

"Peter told me about Henry," Phineas said. "I'd like to hear more about him."

"Can we visit him?" Neal asked.

"Of course." Likely another lie. Phineas had told him that as soon as Peter left, he'd have to supercharge Neal's algolnium. The wormhole was still active in Providence. With the armillary sphere gone, Azathoth would likely flood it with ghasts. Until their access was closed, Neal was at high risk of being captured. But once Neal's algolnium was reactivated, he'd rapidly become ill. There'd probably be no chance to visit Henry before Lavinia's arrival.

When the drawings were stowed in the backpack, Peter turned to Neal for a final embrace. The tears long held back could no longer be denied on either of their parts. Peter's fake confidence that they'd soon be reunited seemed empty and hollow.

"You'll tell me about everything if I forget?" Neal whispered.

Astonished, Peter stared at him. He'd never mentioned amnesia. Neal's eyes suddenly looked too old for a child. Was that the adult Neal speaking as his memories leaked into the child?

Peter held him even tighter. "I promise. We'll be a family once more."

When Peter pressed the button on the compendium to return home, he kept his eyes on Neal, holding that image into his mind . . .

An instant later, he was back in Pagna's lab, the suddenness knocking him to his knees. He took a moment to catch his breath. The swiftness of the journey was disorienting. Part of him still felt like he was in the cottage.

"You're a welcome sight!" Pagna exclaimed. "Mozzie! Look who's here."

Mozzie scurried in from the outer lab. "It's about time," he said a beam on his face. "I hope this means good news."

Peter patted his knapsack. "I've got the armillary sphere."

"And Neal?" Mozzie asked. "How is he?"

"Fine when I left. Has he made it back yet?"

Pagna shook her head. "Not to our knowledge."

"I need a full account," Mozzie demanded. "Spare no detail."

That would take a while, and there was someone Peter badly needed to see first. El was working downstairs in the chemistry lab with Cyrus. Peter was stunned to discover that it was only Wednesday morning. He and Mozzie had left the previous evening by El's timeline. Mozzie had returned only a couple of hours after they'd left.

That may have eased the stress for El, but all the pent-up emotions he'd had over the past two weeks quickly resurfaced. Pagna offered the use of her lab where they could have privacy. She called El upstairs, then shoved Mozzie to the outside lab to give them time alone.

Peter felt like El had been with him the entire time he was gone—almost like the adult Neal was present in the child—but there was no way to communicate. Now when he wrapped his arms around her, all he could say was, "I love you, hon."

"I love you too," El said. She traced the line of his jaw and smiled through her tears. "You've got quite a suntan."

"I've been a mountain man for the past two weeks." He breathed in her scent, the lingering fragrance of her rosemary and mint shampoo, and felt truly home.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Later that day, everyone adjourned to June's house. Mozzie had already caught them up for the events he'd witnessed but that still left the shantaks, Azathoth, and the return to the cottage. Peter's thoughts kept returning to the little boy he'd left behind and how he was faring.

Time dragged slowly. Neal had yet to reemerge. Everyone assumed that it was the armillary sphere which had enabled Azathoth to place Neal into his younger self, but what if they were wrong? What if there was a setting in Azathoth's machinery which prevented Neal from being split? Peter spun out a vast assortment of unforeseen issues but didn't torture the others with them. Until Neal reappeared, everyone was trying to focus on their jobs. El looked like she hadn't slept at all the previous night. At least that was something he hoped he could rectify.

Gideon believed the octopus-like creature which had attacked Peter in Azathoth's fortress was a cthylla, a species native to Tirelia. It had evolved from the ocean and now dwelled in caves and caverns. It combined some of the features of Earth's bats and spiders. Gideon had never heard of them in service of the Ymar, but like zoogs they could have become ensnared.

As for why the shantaks perceived Neal to glow, the Meropians were stumped. They speculated it could be because of the excessive amount of algolnium in his system or perhaps it was being caused by his Celaenian heritage. No Meropian was known to have communicated with shantaks.

The armillary sphere and crystal would be stored in Pagna's lab where no one could enter without her permission. When Peter asked for an explanation of how the security system worked, she simply smiled and said he wouldn't understand. Although her manner was much gentler, Pagna had much in common with her taciturn kinswoman Lavinia.

Peter touched base with his department head. There was no reason for him not to resume teaching. He enjoyed Eleanor's good-natured teasing about him not trusting her with his students. She'd wound up teaching only one class during his short absence.

The next day Peter taught his full class load. El spent the entire day into the evening in the lab with Lavinia and Cyrus. Peter wished he had something so absorbing to work on. Their efforts were paying off. They were testing a drug which could be the means of eliminating ymarite in Neal's system. They only had a small supply of Neal's blood to test it on. If this sample didn't work, there might not be enough in reserve to start over.

Despite his optimistic words, neither El nor Peter was sleeping well. During the weeks in Tirelia, Neal had become his son, and now Peter's anguish was as real as if Neal was his own flesh and blood. Peter found himself stopping to listen, hoping against hope he'd hear something in his head, but there was nothing.

On Friday morning, he taught the final session of his introductory lecture on ancient Egypt. It was the same course Neal had attended the first week of classes. Afterward, he'd introduced himself and related an incredible tale of a starfish carving he saw in his dreams. Peter had the eerie sensation that Neal was there now, listening to him. At the conclusion of the lecture, he looked up into the steep rows of seats, half-expecting to see Neal descend the steps to approach the lectern.

Peter mounted the staircase back to his office. The starfish still resided in his safe. He hadn't examined it in a while and resolved to correct that deficiency. The script carved into the walls of Azathoth's lab appeared to be the same language. In an odd way, that starfish now seemed like a link to Neal.

He paused at the door to his office. He could see a person's shadow through the frosted glass of the door panel. Peter kept the door locked, and there were few who had a key. _Don't get your hopes up. _In his preoccupation, he could have forgotten to lock the office.

He thrust the door open to see Neal standing by his desk, all six feet of him. But that hopeful smile on his face reminded Peter so much of the little boy, he felt like that he should be scooping a child into his arms, not wrapping his arms around an adult. Neither one of them was able to control their emotions, and why should they even try?

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

It was a moment or two before they could speak coherently. Neal had grown unexpectedly tense waiting for Peter to appear. He'd watched the man he'd adopted as his father vanish in front of his eyes. Those emotions were overpowering his memories of Peter as a colleague. It seemed strange not to have to look up to him and Peter appeared to be wrestling with the same disconnect. When they sat down, Peter pressed him for details.

"I reappeared in June's living room."

"That must have given her quite a start."

"I don't know who was more astonished. My arrival triggered a signal to Pagna's lab. Within minutes she was there with Lavinia, El, Mozzie, and Cyrus. I tried to call you, but you were already in the lecture hall. They reassured me you'd made it back safely. Mozzie was there in the flesh. I figured you had to be all right as well." Neal swiped a quick hand over his eyes. "Sorry. The memories of you and Mozzie vanishing are all so fresh . . ."

Peter looked at him, startled. "You remember?"

Neal nodded. "Everything. It's hard to explain. I'd become that boy, and when I came back I retained his memories. Mom, Gramps, Zophar, Henry . . . all of it. Thanks to you and Mozzie, I have my childhood back."

"That's a lot to absorb," Peter said. "I have to admit I was comforted thinking that you wouldn't recall how your parents died."

"But there were so many happy, loving moments that were lost as well. Now they're all part of me. I'll never be able to adequately express my appreciation."

"You already have," Peter assured him, "and you also reminded me." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a keychain. "This is yours, I believe." He placed it in Neal's hand. "I have the real thing. I don't need this for luck." He tousled Neal's hair. "You see, I remember too!"

"My dragon!" Neal laughed as he smoothed down his hair. "Are you still going to think of me as a kid?"

Peter shrugged. "I'm afraid it's inevitable. You better get used to it."

"It's a good thing I didn't act on my initial impulse to go to your lecture. Our reputations might not have survived."

"Two professors losing it in front of a packed hall? Yeah, that's probably for the best."

"I'm meeting El at the medical center for a physical this afternoon. They think they'll have a drug ready for me to test tomorrow. I may finally be able to get rid of the ymarite. El's anxious to see how much algolnium I have and if my body is tolerating it." He smiled. "I'm back to being a lab rat. Some things don't change."

"Do you feel all right?"

"Physically, I'm fine. Emotionally?" Neal shrugged. "I feel like that boy traveled back with me. He's part of me now."

"You can't imagine how happy I am to hear that. Having to say goodbye to you was . . ." Peter stopped and shook his head.

"For me too," Neal said quietly. "There's so much to process. That black hole in my memory's been filled in. I feel like Mom died two months ago. For Gramps, it's only been a couple of weeks."

Peter clasped his shoulder. "You weren't allowing yourself to grieve properly in Providence. Now you'll have that chance."

They stayed together for the rest of the day. Peter appeared to need the reassurance as much as he did. El kept the exams comparatively brief. After stopping in the library vault to retrieve his drawings, Neal spent the rest of the afternoon with Peter, working in his office. Peter typed up an account of the events, while Neal sketched at a side table. He wanted to transfer the images of Mom, Gramps, Zophar, and Henry to paper while they were still vivid in his mind.

Everyone gathered at June's that evening. Peter, El, Mozzie, Cyrus, Gideon, Pagna, and Lavinia. Humans and Meropians. His family. The only one missing was Sara. El had planned to call her in London, but when Mozzie returned so quickly, she'd held off. Neal was glad Sara had been spared the anxiety.

Gideon arranged for a local Italian restaurant, Fabrizio's, to supply a lasagna feast. Mozzie had Cranwell's Wine Shop deliver an assortment of vintages for the occasion.

Gideon was able to confirm that there was no evidence of significant damage to the timeline. Neal remembered Peter's departure and the remainder of that day with Phineas, but it was not something he wanted to discuss. The anguish he'd felt at Peter's departure was too raw. Phineas had done his best to comfort him, but there wasn't much he could do.

Neal's memories ended when he finally cried himself to sleep that night. Gideon said that his condition quickly worsened, perhaps exacerbated by the identity split. The Meropian had placed an emergency call to Lavinia the same day Peter left. As soon as they sealed the wormhole, Lavinia began treating Neal for algolnium sickness. There was no chance to visit Henry.

Out of all their experiences on Tirelia, the Meropians were most focused on the communications Neal had overheard in the fortress. They now had confirmation that Azathoth could communicate directly with Earth.

Lavinia believed that his contacts were most likely either cult members or Tirelians who were acting as spies. "We must prepare ourselves for the possibility," she warned. "As far as we know, there is nothing to prevent Tirelians from entering wormholes or mingling with humans. They look just like you. They can't use the cave portal you did, but there may be other gateways. You've also confirmed that Elnath scientists are working for Azathoth."

They'd known the cult was dangerous, but now it was clear they were getting their orders directly from Azathoth. What did Azathoth mean when he said he was working on a solution? Had he discovered a way of obtaining crystals which would lead to even more penetration into Earth's defenses? He'd mentioned conditions on Earth being different in earlier times. The Meropians feared he was attempting to develop time travel. Would Neal look back on this moment as a momentary respite before a much more difficult struggle?

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Thanks to a secure connection provided by Gideon, Neal was able to call Sara the next day. The Meropians were adamant that in light of the very real threat posed by the cult, all telephone communications concerning their group's mission should be conducted through equipment housed within Pagna's lab. Sara had been given instructions to go to Gideon's London office for the call. The system required advance planning, but it worked.

When she heard what happened, Sara promised that no matter what she'd be back for Christmas. Thanks to Gideon's seemingly endless financial reserves, she'd be able to catch a flight, even at the last minute. It had only been a week since Neal had seen her, but it felt like it was a remote event in a different reality. He hoped by Christmas he would no longer feel out of sync.

Later that day El's team succeeded in purging the ymarite from Neal's system. If it had been a week earlier, he wouldn't have experienced the time lapse, but Neal had no regrets. Thanks to Peter and Mozzie, they had the armillary sphere back and his memory as well.

The moment had come to make good on a promise. On Sunday, Mozzie drove Peter and Neal in his Hornet to Providence for a long-delayed return visit. Neal rode in the backseat just like he had on the earlier ride. It was difficult to believe it had been fourteen years ago. His mind told him only a few weeks had passed since he accompanied Henry to the shelter.

During the trip, Mozzie explained how he'd made annual donations to the facility ever since he graduated from college. "Mr. Jensen never mentioned Henry," Mozzie said, "but he wouldn't have. I'd asked him not to."

"Did he question your motive?" Peter asked.

"Mr. Jensen was used to strange requests. He likely assumed I was acting as the agent for someone who needed to keep their identity secret, and that was, in a sense, true." He smiled as he rounded the curve leading to the entrance of St. Jerome's. "Mr. Jensen also didn't mention that I looked unusually mature for my age. In 1961, I was supposedly twenty-six years old. Now he'll think I haven't aged a bit."

"Henry was convinced you and Peter were aliens," Neal said.

"And you, as well," Peter commented. "He'd placed us in the fictional world of Green Lantern and believed we were Guardians of the Universe. He probably gave up on the notion long ago."

"Perhaps not," Mozzie said, pulling into the parking lot of the complex. "I gave him a way to realize that we were telling the truth. Not necessarily that we were Guardians of the Universe," he added when Peter started to growl, "but that we were from the future. Henry needed to have something to believe in. I told him a new hero named Spider-Man would emerge in a year and that when he read about the adventures of Peter Parker, he should think of us."

Neal chuckled. "I like that. Spider-Man fights a villain called Doctor Octopus. A caricature of Azathoth perhaps?"

Mozzie shrugged as he turned off the ignition. "Henry may have been left with the impression that he was your arch-nemesis. I told Henry that it could be years before you'd see him again and that he should leave his contact information with Mr. Jensen."

Neal fingered the dragon in his pocket. He owed Henry so much. All his relatives were dead. Henry was the only tie to his life before Phineas showed up at the cottage.

The walkway leading to the building had been neatly shoveled. A large Christmas wreath was on the front door. This was where Henry had spent Christmas. Did he run away afterward? Neal's nerves began to surface as they went inside as he became uneasy over what he'd hear. He was glad he had Peter and Mozzie with him.

Mozzie had called ahead to verify that Mr. Jensen would be available. They'd timed their arrival to be before lunch. Mozzie guided them to his office which was beyond the front reception area.

An elderly man, Jensen's tight curly hair and mustache were gray. Although he was advanced in years, his back was still ramrod straight.

"Mozzie, after all these years, this is a real pleasure!" he said, greeting him warmly. "You haven't aged a bit since last we met!"

Mozzie smiled. "I find it more efficient to age in spurts. These are the friends I mentioned—Peter Gilman and Neal Carter."

Mr. Jensen flashed a curious look at Neal when he shook hands with him. He invited them to take seats in the side chairs around his desk.

Mozzie took the lead. "As I mentioned on the phone, we're interested in a boy I brought to you in December of 1961—Henry Elliot."

"And as I told you, I'm protective of our kids and don't share information about them without knowing the circumstances. At the time you introduced Henry, you asked that I not mention him to you afterward, and I've complied. Our facility is greatly appreciative of all the donations you've made over the years, but they don't prevent me from asking what's changed." Mr. Jensen raised an eyebrow and reclined back in his chair. It was clear their university credentials didn't carry sufficient reassurance.

"Henry befriended me when I was a child," Neal said. "That was shortly before Mozzie brought him here. A couple of weeks later, I became ill and developed amnesia. I only recently regained my memory and recalled who he was. I'd like to thank him." He reached into his pocket for a copy of the newspaper article which had been published when he was found in Arkham.

Mr. Jensen read it through, not saying a word. Afterward, he looked up. "When Henry arrived, he carried a Christmas gift. Do you know what it was?"

Neal smiled. "A crayon drawing wrapped in the comics page of a newspaper. I'd made it." He turned to Peter. "It was of Henry dressed in a Green Lantern costume. I included an image of myself in the act of drawing him."

"Henry was very proud of that picture," Mr. Jensen said. "He told everyone his kid brother Neal made it. I got a frame for it and he hung it on the wall next to his bed."

"Did Henry stay here for long?" Peter asked.

"Till he finished high school. I don't mind telling you he was a challenge—always in one scrape after another. But he has a good heart and liked to help the younger kids. He loved the Boy Scouts and participated in all their outdoor sports." Mr. Jensen chuckled. "He claimed he was training to be a soldier of fortune. He excelled in marksmanship, rock climbing, fencing—you name it."

"Did he get to see his mom?" Neal asked.

"I contacted her and she visited him a few days later. She appeared happy to have him in a safe place and made no difficulties. She died two years later from a drug overdose. At that time, Henry declared he'd take his father's surname, Parker. When I questioned him, he said his father was also dead. We didn't have a birth certificate for him, and I saw no harm in him calling himself Henry Parker."

Mozzie shot Neal a knowing look. That was Spider-Man's last name. Was that a signal Henry believed the story Mozzie told him?

"Has he kept in contact with you since he left?" Mozzie asked.

"He wrote to me about a month afterward." Mr. Jensen opened a desk drawer and pulled out an index card. "He told me you might ask about him and that I should give you this." He handed the card to Mozzie.

Neal peered over his shoulder. Written on the card, was the address of a post office box in the Netherlands. The name was Henry Chaseman.

When they walked back to the car, Peter quizzed him about the significance of the alias.

"Gramps used Chaseman as an alias. That's the way I introduced myself. Henry must have remembered it."

"I suppose he could have used the name as a secret signal to Mozzie," Peter speculated. "But I'm curious why he used an alias."

Mozzie shrugged. "Superheroes have aliases. Henry may still identify with them."

"He graduated high school in 1968," Peter pointed out. "That was at the height of the Vietnam War. He may have fled to Europe to avoid being drafted."

Peter didn't comment further, but Neal could read his views by the expression on his face. A draft-dodger wasn't his idea of a superhero. Peter had served in the military. His younger brother had been killed during the war. But Neal had many friends who extended their time in college to postpone being drafted. He wasn't about to knock Henry for wanting to stay out of the war. How had Henry been living these past seven years? Was the post office box number still valid? Neal intended to find out.

Mozzie unlocked the car door. "Should we stop off at Freetown State Forest on the way back?" He turned to look at them, a glint in his eyes. "Don't we need to find out if the wormhole still works?"

"Lavinia warned us not to attempt it," Peter said. "Once Azathoth discovered the theft, he likely ordered his forces to be even more vigilant."

"Her caution is warranted," Mozzie agreed diplomatically. He turned to Neal. "How do you vote?"

Neal felt a smile breaking out. "In the name of science, we should at least discover if the portal is still there. Mozzie, you believed it was possible that the winged serpent I encountered in Lyon had traveled back in time to create the wormhole. If that's the case it may have had a limited duration."

Neal hoped that wasn't true. That eight-year-old who was now inside him longed to see shantaks once more.

* * *

_Notes: Will the portal to Tirelia still be open? Will Neal reconnect with Henry? The answers are coming in the next story in the series, Sands of Abydos. There are a few hints about the directions the series will take in my new blog post, "Time Crystals Sandbox." In Penna's blog post, she takes us on a nostalgic "journey through fandoms."_

_Thank you for coming along on this latest Arkham Files adventure! Special thanks to the awesome Penna Nomen for acting as beta and venturing into Cthulhu Mythos weirdness with me. I've added cthyllas to the Arkham Files bestiary. They're not as lovable as shantaks, and Neal and Peter would just as soon not encounter them again. _

_Next week I'll plunge back into the wormhole and emerge in Elizabethan England for the next installment in my Six-Crossed Knot series (All Souls Trilogy fandom). The story is called Golden Bubble and takes place in 1593. On July 31, I'll return to Caffrey Conversation with Cloister of Secrets, the sequel to The Musicians._

_Till next time!_

_Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation_  
_Chapter Visuals and Music: The Time Crystals board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website_


End file.
